Three Ring Circus
by katbybee
Summary: COMPLETE Sequel to "Earthquake!" Explores events leading up to Liberation through the following twenty years. Includes all the Heroes, and some from a new generation as well, plus a few visitors! I have rewritten some scenes to improve cohesiveness of the plot, since the characters have led me a merry chase and pretty much hijacked my computer. UUD. R/R Thanks, xavionite! You rock!
1. Not Just a Jacket

**May 1964**

 **Veteran's Hospital**

 **Bridgeport, CT**

"That bomber jacket and I have been through too much together to allow some wet-behind-the-ears kid to destroy it now! We may be a bit scuffed up, but we have a lot of miles left in us…I am not bleeding, so you are not cutting it off!"

"But, sir, we have no choice! We have to check you out in order to treat you!"

"That's fine. Just do it without cutting the jacket! I didn't let those blasted ambulance attendants do it, and I am not about to let you do it, either!"

The nurse and the intern staring down at the middle-aged, dark-haired man lying on the gurney were astounded. They were used to belligerent or combative accident victims. Those they could handle easily. This man was neither. He was very calm, but also very determined. He also outranked every single person in the room.

Although, he didn't look it at the moment. He wore heavy, faded Levi's and scuffed combat boots…probably his original pair by the look of them…He held his left arm close to his side, held in place with his right.

Hogan tried again. "Look, pain I can handle. Just sit me up and take the jacket off. My shoulder is just dislocated. Not the first time. It won't matter if it gets jostled around some. Not a big deal. Just ease the jacket off. Then do what you need to do."

The intern shook his head vehemently. "No, sir. I cannot do that. We can't risk further injury. Your shoulder may be broken."

Dr. Michael Freeman had heard the commotion in the far end of the Trauma Ward. He also realized his colleagues must have an extraordinary patient on their hands. One who was apparently making their lives difficult from the sound of things. Well, Freeman, as the head of the Trauma Ward, was used to difficult. He swept into the ward and, before seeing the patient, took the chart from the nurse.

One look immediately told him what the problem was… _and he knew they were doomed. This man's reputation had more than preceded him. There wasn't a more difficult patient to deal with on the entire planet. Unless perhaps it was one of the men loyal to him. Not much was known of their activities during WWII, as much of it was still classified, but enough was known that no one messed with the man lying on the gurney in his trauma ward, or the men who had been in his command, even while prisoners. Or, actually, Freeman amended…were still in his command; as two of the younger men still worked with him…_

He shrugged off the thoughts and turned back to the problem at hand.

The doctor was frustrated It wasn't like he could just brush off the general's demands. But he was also a patient, and as a doctor, patient well-being came first. Suddenly, inspiration hit. His own father was a Navy veteran, so he really did understand what the jacket meant. But, as his own father had been a Commander in the Navy…also a leader, Dr. Freeman though perhaps he could draw on his father's wisdom to get the man to see reason.

He introduced himself to General Hogan, who was still trying to alternately badger and charm the medical personnel into helping him out of his jacket. Hogan looked up him and grinned. "Hiya, Doc!"

Freeman was surprised at the total lack of military protocol on General Hogan's part, until he thought about it. From what he had heard, this was just his personality. He was not one to stand on ceremony, unless he had to.

Once again, the cajoling and bargaining began, with the doctor rapidly losing both patience and ground. Finally, Freeman asked him, "How do you know it's not broken, sir?"

"Simple. I had it broken one time before, during the war." His expressive brown eyes grew distant and dark. "It's not broken."

Freeman stared at the general. He had not missed the phrasing, and it shook him to the core. All thoughts of trying to persuade the man before him to let him cut the jacket fled.

Quietly, he beckoned to his team. In a low, but determined voice, he told them. "We are going to help the general remove his jacket. We are not going to cut it. I am trusting him about his injury. I will take responsibility." And although there were varying looks of disapproval or curiosity, the team had been given their orders. They would obey them to the letter.

Freeman suddenly thought of something. "Just exactly what happened, today, Sir?"

Hogan smiled ruefully. "Took a turn a bit too sharp, I guess. Slid on a patch of sand, and wrecked my Harley."

The doctor winced. "Tough break."

Hogan nodded. "Yeah. Tell me. Newkirk's gonna kill me. We just finished restoring it."

Freeman's eyebrow quirked. He'd heard the name. "One of your men, isn't he?"

Hogan nodded again, looking askance at the needle one of the nurses held ready. "What's that for?"

"Just a painkiller. This is gonna hurt, sir."

"No, I don't need it."

Freeman smiled. "All due respect, General, maybe not. But, maybe, you deserve it?"

A world of understanding passed between them, and Hogan nodded. The doctor pushed home the plunger, and Hogan shut his eyes, trying to relax.

Freeman told him, "We'll let that work, and take off the jacket in fifteen minutes or so."

He then turned back to one of the nurses and asked, "Have you been able to reach an emergency contact?"

The nurse replied, "We tried, but no one answered the telephone. We left a message at the General's office. They said they would track down the contact. Apparently, they work together." A sudden commotion in the hallway made them all turn, even Hogan.

A slightly scruffy middle-aged man, with brown hair and green eyes stood there, shaking off a security guard who was attempting to restrain him. The man was as roughly dressed as Hogan himself. He zeroed in on Hogan and headed directly for him. "Cor, guv! What've ya gone an' done this time, mate?"

Freeman's eyes widened for a moment. He knew who this had to be. He stepped over to the man. "You must be Peter Newkirk. I'm Lt. Commander Freeman."

"I am. What happened to Colonel…er…General Hogan, then?"

Catching the frantic look on Hogan's face, Freeman smiled slightly. "He'll be fine…why don't you come with me, we'll talk about it." And he escorted the Englishman from the room, much to Hogan's chagrin. If Freeman said a word about the bike, Hogan knew his life was over.

When Dr. Freeman returned ten minutes later, Hogan's shoulder was pleasantly numb. When Hogan asked where Newkirk had gone, the response was ominous. Freeman looked distinctly uncomfortable when he replied that his friend had gone to see about collecting Hogan's Harley. "Yes, well, he did seem a bit…miffed." Hogan rolled his eyes. _Miffed. Yeah._

The old brown jacket was finally removed without incident and returned to the general, after his dislocated shoulder had been put back into place and his arm strapped to his chest. A nurse helped him back into his shirt, but he elected to hold onto the jacket. He sat in a wheelchair, waiting for Newkirk to come and pick him up. He stared at the jacket, thinking back on some of the memories the rich, dark brown leather evoked.

"LeBeau, I'm holding you in reserve...we just may have to poison that bridge!" *

"There is no such thing as just one rabbit…" **

"Say hello to Sgt. Freddie for us." ***

There was also a faint odor of cigar smoke, "Hogan, I know you are up to something…" Who would have ever thought Klink really did know what they were up to? He laughed, remembering Liberation, and Klink's greatest coups. ****

No one would ever truly be able to understand what the jacket meant to him. Some might call him foolish or childish for reacting the way he had, but this jacket was connected to a part of him-a part of his life-he would never willingly lose. The men, all of them, truly were heroes. His heroes.

 **~TBC~**

 **A/N:** * "German Bridge is Falling Down." ** "Klink vs. the Gonculator." *** "Monkey Business." **** Okay, there is an unconfirmed rumor about an unfilmed script…but I just liked the idea…so I ran with it.


	2. The Missing Carter

**Later that Afternoon**

 **Peter Newkirk's Home**

 **Suburban WDC**

Newkirk frowned as he guided the trailer into the garage. He jumped out of the cab and stared morosely at the mangled motorcycle. Just then, he heard his phone ring, and he headed to the front of his garage to pick up the extension. "Newkirk."

The voice on the other end laughed. "You never change, do you?"

Newkirk shrugged. "Never. Wot's up, luv?"

"Well, I just wondered if you had heard from Andrew. He's late checking in, and you know he is never late."

Newkirk frowned. "I haven't heard from him recently. Although, if he'd been tryin' to reach me today, he'd have had a tough time. Been a bit busy."

Hilda asked no questions. In their business, she had learned years ago that if there was something they wanted her to know, they would tell her.

But one thing about Carter. No matter where he was, unless he was in trouble, he checked in with his wife like clockwork. Newkirk thought about that. And he realized that with Hogan out of commission for at least a few days, it was up to him to see what his best mate had gotten up to.

"Listen, Hilda, I have to run an errand, and then I wonder if you'd be a love and do me a favor."

Despite her worry, her response was automatic. "Of course, Peter. Anything."

"Ya see, the guv's gone and got himself banged up a bit, and I need to go pick him up from hospital."

The alarm in Hilda's voice was palpable. "No! What happened?"

"Now, luv, he's fine. He just took the Harley out for a test spin and…well, it didn't go so well. He dislocated his shoulder. He'll be down for a few days. And I need to find out about Andrew. I also need to tie up a few loose ends here. Would you mind keeping an eye on the Colonel for me? You know how he is…"

Hilda chuckled. "Of course, I don't mind. It's become a habit over the years, looking out for you anyway. And adding him to my list is easy. I did it for a long time, you know." Her voice grew soft and sad, distant memories mixing with more recent ones. "How is he?"

Newkirk sighed. "Some days are better than others. He misses her terribly. Me, too, come to that." He shook himself. He had things to do, and as he always did, he shoved his emotions deep inside. He would examine them another day…most likely at the pub.

"And have you heard from Leticia?"

Peter brightened. "I have. She'll be home from droppin' off Jamie at school next week. You know 'e wanted to backpack a bit first… see the sights before school starts. 'e promised to keep in touch, an' I can always find 'im if I need 'im."

Hilda chuckled at Peter's last bland statement. He might be publicly retired from government service, but she knew better. _She was also very good at keeping secrets._

Peter continued. "Letty wanted to visit her mum and da while she was over in Europe, so the guv arranged it for her to visit Hammelburg. I wasn't too keen on her going, but I do understand. They're gettin' up there, and won't hear of emigratin'. She's tried, believe me. Can't say as I blame 'em. Hard pickin' up roots at their age. Mavis was a lot younger when I tried, an' she wouldn't hear of it, either."

He could hear the smile in Hilda's voice. "Hard to believe…you, with a son on full scholarship to Cambridge."

"It is at that. Me ol' da would be rollin' over if he knew I actually amounted to somethin', let alone had a kid at all." He steered his thoughts away from those dangerous waters and got back to business.

"I'll drop by after I see to the guv. We've put him in Jamie's old room, although he keeps makin' noises about finding another place."

"Do you think it's too soon?"

Newkirk sighed. "Hard to tell. They were together for a lot of years. An' he still blames himself, I think."

"Andrew thinks so, too. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. Things happen."

"Yeah, but why did it have to happen to them?"

His question was met with silence. It was a question that had no answer. It never would.

He chatted a few moments more, then rang off. He took one last look at the bike. It was wrecked, but not beyond repair. They would start again. He just wished his friend could mend so easily.

As he drove over to pick up Hogan, his mind was in turmoil. He was worried about a lot of things…a lot of people. He was worried about the governor. His wife of nearly twenty years had died suddenly. They had married right after the war, and spent a lot of happy years together. He loved Marilyn very much, and it had broken his heart when she dropped dead of heart failure six months previously. He had never been the same. The couple had never had children, so Peter and Leticia had stepped in to try to help him. And Peter knew that though Hogan loved them as a brother and sister, his heart was broken…and there was nothing they could do, but be there.

He was worried about Andrew. He chuckled a little. Who would have ever thought the two of them would have stayed with Hogan after all these years. The funny thing was, they were doing almost precisely the same thing they had done back in Stalag 13…just from the other side. Hogan was now calling the shots, and the operation was run from his office in the Pentagon. And they now had three teams running operations…although it was a very different war. He shook his head. He was worried about their teams, who operated in one of the most hostile and unstable regions of the world.

Vietnam. The mission was different, in that they were operating within the parameters of underground units, not so much POW camps, although that had become a distinct possibility. Though support for their mission was not always politically expedient, it was exactly the kind of operation the colonel—general—was born to lead. And Newkirk, despite his unofficial military status, was his attaché of sorts. Not that he was a diplomat, mind you. Their office was much more clandestine than that. He was something of an undercover Procurement Officer. That was it. Peter smiled. That fit as well as anything. He shuttled anything that was too…sensitive…to be sent to Hogan directly, to The Cap and Crown, his beloved pub and second home. He had bought and restored the old pub not long after moving to Washington and turned it in to a haven for those like himself who sometimes longed for home…who missed a little bit of England.

No one suspected anything about the gimpy-legged old barkeep and shade tree mechanic with the funny British accent. No one would believe that he was one of the most highly successful espionage agents in operation. He cooperated with both British and American Intelligence—when it suited him—but he did not answer to them. His was–a unique position.

Newkirk smirked as he thought about that, and then frowned as he pulled into the carpark. The other member of their little three-ring-circus was AWOL. And that scared the hell out of him. Because Andrew _was_ official. He, like Hogan, had made the military his career. He was an officer. He was a spy. He was undercover. And he was missing…somewhere in North Vietnam.

 **~TBC~**

 **A/N:** Hogan's wife, Marilyn, is strictly my own invention. If there was any character he ran across by that name, it is strictly coincidence.


	3. Better Days

Major Andrew J. Carter had definitely had better days. He was in the heart of enemy territory, and he was alone and injured. He was also carrying so much top-secret, vital information, it wasn't funny. He had to get to his rendezvous point in order to make it through the next checkpoint. He sighed as he trudged along the jungle path. To call it a road would have stretched even the wildest imagination. He thought about the past 48 hours. No matter how he analyzed it, he came to the same conclusion every time.

The operation, at least the one in this area, had been compromised. And he had been betrayed. And, with his communications gear destroyed, along with everything else he had with him, he was in trouble. He was also a little angry at himself. He was a demolitions expert…had been all his life. And he had never sensed the trap…never realized there was a bomb on the jeep. And two men died because of his carelessness. His guide and his driver, both good men, both South Vietnamese, were dead.

He stopped to take a break, thankful he still had his canteen on him. His camos helped him to blend into his surroundings, but he was under no illusions. He knew that his chances of making it out without being killed or captured were slim to none. He also knew if that were to happen, everything he and the others had fought for all these years would come to nothing. He would do whatever he could do make it to the rendezvous. Too much rode on this…Too many lives were at stake. He made sure he was well hidden in the dense foliage, and finally took a few minutes to assess and treat his wounds as best he could. Fortunately, they weren't life-threatening, just annoying. He had been lucky. He was thrown clear of the blast. He just had a bunch of cuts and bruises.

With one exception…his left arm. He had a major laceration, and it was bleeding like hell. He stared at it for a moment, fascinated. He hadn't even remembered cutting his arm. Thanks to the heavy scar tissue there, he hadn't realized how bad it was. * The blast back at the Stalag all those years ago had robbed him of some nerve function in that arm. As a result, though he had full range of motion in it, there were times his fingers would cramp painfully on him, sometimes for several hours at a time. Conversely, he had almost no feeling in it, from his elbow to his wrist, where the damage had been the worst.

Now, he did as he had done several times before. He cleaned the wound, using the whiskey he carried in a small flask. He smiled as he regarded the flask. When they had returned to London after Liberation, they had spent time at a base there, debriefing and preparing to be shipped home. Peter had gone out one day and brought back the flask. He had bought one for each member of the core team, with matching engraving, which simply read, "To me mates. Ta, Peter." Also engraved was the date they were liberated…or more accurately, stood down from the operation at Stalag 13. A day none of them would ever forget.

The next part of his ministrations was more difficult, and he again made sure he was undetectable to any possible enemy patrol. He shouldn't pass out, but he was older now, and not as impervious to pain as he once was. The diminished feeling in his arm would help, but he wouldn't kid himself. This was going to hurt. A lot. He pulled out his pistol and removed a bullet. And calmly and carefully, Andrew used a bullet's worth of gunpowder and his lighter to cauterize the cut.

It was not the first time he had done it, nor, he rather hoped, would it be the last. He lit off the powder and gritted his teeth in agony as it burned. He groaned, praying no patrol was nearby to hear him, or to smell the acrid odor of burning gunpowder and flesh.

He blew out his breath as the pain eased. The wound was sealed, and now sterilized as well. He hadn't passed out. _Okay, maybe he wasn't all that old…_

He realized it was getting dark, and he knew better than to try to move around at night. He looked around and spotted a tree that seemed to offer what he needed. Gathering his few supplies together and pocketing them, he slung his canteen over his shoulder. Hoping no snakes would decide to dispute the territory, Carter climbed up into the tree, using its dense foliage as camouflage. Keeping his knife close to hand, he leaned back against the trunk, and prepared to wait out the night.

He dozed lightly off and on, for once thankful he had never needed much sleep. He chuckled, remembering how his insomnia used to drive the others in Barracks Two crazy at times. It wasn't something different for him. He had always been that way, even as a little kid. His mother used to swear he operated on only two speeds: fast, and faster. And he almost never stopped, except for a few snatched hours here and there. And though he was pushing forty, nothing had changed.

~HH~

"What do you mean, he hasn't checked in?" Hogan was both livid and scared. "Why didn't you tell me at the hospital?"

Newkirk looked at his commander and friend balefully. "Because I just found out after I got back from pickin' up the bike. That's when Hilda called me lookin' for him. And I wanted to get you home and settled in before I said anything, because there was nothing you could do at that point anyway."

Hogan sat in the large recliner in Newkirk's living room, his arms folded in front of him. He was still glowering, but the initial storm was receding. And by the look in Hogan's eye, Newkirk could have predicted his next words.

"Alright, let's go find him."

Newkirk shook his head as he sat down in his beat up old rocker. "Nope. You aren't going anywhere. Doc said you're to stay put for at least three days. And he also said he would make it an order if he had to. I've put some feelers out. I still have low friends in high places, y'know. We'll find him." He grinned cheekily, a bit of his old mischief showing.

Hogan couldn't help but smile in wonder, watching as Newkirk removed his prosthetic left leg. Many who had met the man in the past fifteen years didn't know anything more than that he walked with a bit of a hitch. Peter had come so far since that horrible day. So many things changed for all of them after the failed German bomb test had triggered the earthquake that had leveled Stalag 13. **

They had rebuilt, the camp, their mission, and their lives. It had not been easy, and it had not been quick. But it had happened. He sat back, content for the moment, knowing Peter was right. He had to rest, and there wasn't much he could do that Peter couldn't do. If anyone could find him, Newkirk would. And Peter couldn't do it if he was in pain, or tired. And so, Hogan relented, watching his friend carefully, and a bit sadly. He could never look at Newkirk without seeing him kitted out in his old RAF corporal's uniform, up to some mischief or other. And Hogan sighed, finally letting his eyes drift shut.

Peter grimaced. After all this time, his stump was tough, and didn't usually give him any trouble. But tonight, he was feeling something he hadn't felt in years. Phantom pain. His left ankle…hurt. It ached as surely as if it were still right there. Still a part of him. Maybe it was worrying about Andrew. Maybe it was thinking about the Stalag. Maybe it was the scare with the guv. Most likely, it was a combination of all three.

Peter reached over to the bottle and glasses on the table near him, and poured a shot. He sipped the whiskey, and smiled. This was the good stuff…some that Hogan had been hoarding. He had brought it back with him the last time he had gone abroad. They had opened it just before Andrew had left…to drink a toast to their newest operation in Southeast Asia…an operation that would nearly mirror Stalag 13. Which was why Andrew was missing. He had gone to gather some vital intelligence from their operatives there. Newkirk sat back, and closed his eyes.

~HH~

Hilda found them both like that, asleep in the living room. She had let herself in when there was no answer to her soft knock. They all kept keys to each other homes, just in case something went wrong. She smiled as she eased the glass from Peter's hand. As usual, he hadn't spilled a drop when he fell asleep. She was just glad he hadn't been smoking as well. She knew he had to be exhausted if she could take the glass without waking him up. She also knew better than to try to wake him.

She turned towards Rob. He looked so peaceful and handsome. He had aged quite well. His dark hair was streaked with flecks of silver, and his face carried a few more lines, but all-in-all, he looked nearly the same as he did back when she had first met him in Germany. She left the two men in the living and went to see about making sure they would have something to eat when they awoke. From the neat kitchen. she turned, smiling just a little as she watched Hogan breathe.

Sadly, she whispered, "Marie was a fool, you know. And so were you."

~HH~

A/N: *See "The Demise of Daisy, RIP" for the story behind his accident.

**See "Earthquake!" for the story behind the destruction and re-building of Stalag 13.


	4. Aftermath

**May 1944**

 **Stalag 13**

The end was coming. They could all feel it. The guards were restless…wondering what would become of them. Things had never gotten completely back to the way they had been before the earthquake. Many of the guards and prisoners had worked together during the aftermath and the time they had rebuilt the camp. Therefore, they now looked upon each other with new eyes. They were, if not friends, at least comrades.

In addition, certain realities involving the prisoners had been discovered immediately after the disaster. The extensive tunnel system was one example. A meeting had taken place between Col. Hogan and Col. Klink regarding that issue. No one knew exactly what was said, but apparently, whatever excuse Hogan came up with for the tunnels was accepted by the commandant, because nothing more was said about them, but most of them were filled in and abandoned without further comment, and the Gestapo was never notified of their presence.

The tunnels that had been dug shortly after the prisoners moved into the new barracks were much less extensive, but still allowed the men to move about the camp with ease. One major difference with the new tunnels was that Col. Hogan insisted that the tunnels be shored up securely. He had nearly lost two of his core team to those tunnels, and he would not have it happen again.

Carter's lab was again in full swing. It was reinforced and built with several new safety features…all aimed at keeping the young sergeant, and the rest of the men somewhat less at risk. He had been able to replace most of his equipment, thanks to a couple of drops from London, and a few trips to the black market, which had been going strong ever since the whole disaster the year before.

The dark room was back in operation, as well as an area for their new stock of uniforms and diguises. They did not have as many as they did before, but Newkirk and LeBeau were spending as much time as they could tailoring outfits and gathering props. Newkirk had been a bit irritable lately, as he was worried about his wife, back in London. She was pregnant, and he longed to be with her. Hogan had offered him the chance to go home, but he had refused, knowing she wouldn't want him there while he still had a job to do, and knowing too, that he could never leave his mates before they were liberated. They had started this operation together, and he was determined that they would finish it together.

He was also concerned, as he was to receive a prosthetic leg soon. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. On one hand, it would be good, as, once he got used to it, he would be able to participate more freely in missions outside the fence. On the other hand, he had grown used to using his crutches, and he could move about quite well. In fact, there were times he, as well as the others, nearly forgot he had only one leg. There had been some static when the Gestapo had moved back into the area, but Hogan had smoothed it over. Apparently, he had convinced the officers who came to the Stalag, that Newkirk was simply not worth bothering with at this point…that with only one leg he posed even less of an escape risk than he did before…that he was no threat to Hitler at all. Of course, nothing could be further from the truth…but the Germans had no clue.

He had written to Leticia about it, as much as he could, considering the censors. Her take had been simply that he needed to do what was best for him. She loved him no matter what he decided. However, she did point out that if he decided not to accept the prosthesis, the RAF might change their minds. She said no more…but Peter got what she meant. It was this point that made up his mind. He had no doubt the military might just go back on their deal, and he would find himself back in prison. * He still had never heard what Col. Hogan had said or done to ensure his continued operational status within the RAF, even after the loss of his leg. Hogan had never said a word about it to him, nor had the subject ever been brought up by London. Newkirk had simply continued doing what he always did…and he would not destroy it now.

 **~HH~**

It was about this point that the camp was hit with a flu epidemic. Fortunately, it did not seem to be a killer version, such as had been seen in 1918, but it was bad enough. Most of the remaining men in camp had gone down for at least a few days with it, and some went down for more than two weeks. Sgt. Richard Baker, their back-up radio man, and Carter were the last two to take ill, and were two of the hardest hit. This may have been because they had helped Sgt. Wilson with nursing duties after Foster had become ill. For some reason, Carter, though severely ill, got over it in about a week, but Baker was not so lucky. He was still in the infirmary and battling the illness after two weeks. Wilson was concerned, but felt that the young sergeant would get over it, given rest, time, and LeBeau's chicken soup. Carter had been released from the infirmary, but was confined to the barracks for at least two to three weeks, which irritated the young man to no end. He hated being sidelined for any reason, and he knew that with things coming to a head with the war, he had no time for illness right now. He also knew that, given his penchant for relapse, he had no choice in the matter.

 **~TBC~**

 **A/N:** *See "Earthquake."


	5. The Search Begins

May, 1964

When it was just light enough to see, Andrew did a visual recon of the area. When he found himself to be alone and relatively safe, he climbed down from the tree. He stretched his sore muscles and headed up the jungle path. He knew he had little time to make it to the rendezvous. If he missed it, he knew he would never make it out. He could only hope the contact he was supposed to meet had not also been compromised. If that happened, he was a dead man.

He put the thought out of his mind, as it was totally counterproductive. He would deal with whatever lay in front him, one step at a time. That was one lesson he had learned back in the Stalag. Experience and Colonel Hogan had taught him well. He had the uncanny ability to let his mind drift, and yet still pay full attention to what was going on around him… perhaps his training as a kid on the reservation had something to do with it. As he hiked through the dense foliage, he thought back to those days during the war. He chuckled. His career with the Air Force had carried him through three wars now…and he still thought of World War II as "the war." He knew that the others he served with at Stalag 13 felt the same way…even the Co—the General.

He met no one on the trail. He kept a close watch for enemy patrols. It seemed odd to him that the area was so devoid of human activity. It was not exactly the Ho Chi Minh Trail, but he knew there should be at least a few patrols around. There was nothing…and that was never good. Again, there was nothing he could do about it, so he simply kept walking. And sending out a prayer or two as he hiked.

~HH~

Newkirk shifted his legs uncomfortably. He hated flying. Especially when it was a civilian flight. Especially when it was a bumpy, nasty flight such as this one. He was heading to Tokyo. Had he mentioned how much he hated flying? He never minded it when he was the pilot…as he had been when he flew the little Spitfires during the war…even though he wasn't supposed to. Of course, he had been a "special case" for the whole duration of the war, so he had done a lot he wasn't supposed to. He just hated not being in control, which was something Leticia still teased him about.

This meeting was one that would hopefully give him a line on what had happened to Carter. He had left the underground meeting on schedule, but he and the two men he had been with had not shown up at the rendezvous as scheduled. A search team had been sent out over the road they had taken. The jeep he had been in had been found, along with the bodies of the two other men. The bodies had been searched and stripped, probably by scavengers. There had been no sign of Carter.

Because of the clandestine nature of the mission, there would be no official rescue attempt; nor had they expected one. This is where Newkirk and his "low friends" came into play. He had contacts all over the world, due to his stint with British Intelligence just after Liberation. He had gone to Ten Downing Street with a short list of Gestapo agents he wanted. He had offered his services to capture them himself, and had not been turned down. Not much was said about his methods, but he was extremely effective. He captured every one of the agents alive. He returned them all for trial. All except for one.

Immediately after that final incident, three years after he started, he returned to Ten Downing Street, and resigned his position with British Intelligence. He then began the process of emigration to the United States, taking his wife and young son with him, although he and Leticia chose to carry dual citizenship. They bought a house in Virginia, not far from where Hogan and his wife had made their home.

It was not long after that Andrew and Hilda had moved there as well. Andrew had had a difficult time with the military for a time, because of Hilda's nationality, until Col. Klink (Nimrod, as it happened!) and Gen. Hogan had stepped in. There was a top-secret meeting held among the brass, and the official inquiry was closed. This is not to say that Andrew and Hilda did not face prejudice in the neighborhood, or in public in general. But they weathered the initial storms, and eventually, things settled down as people got to know and accept them. It helped when, a year after they moved in, Hilda, as her sister had done, gave birth to twins…strong healthy boys. Immediately, this gave rise to joking speculation amongst their friends that they would have a couple of pyromaniacs on their hands. Hilda sincerely hoped not.

Over the years, they had visited with the others from the core team. LeBeau had finally opened his restaurant in Paris, as well as running a vineyard which had been left to him by an uncle who had perished during the war. It turned out the uncle, a man Louis had only met once as a small boy, had been extremely wealthy, and very wise. He had been able to preserve his family fortune during the war by hiding most of it. He had no children of his own…and, tragically, with the loss of Louis' family to the war, LeBeau became his sole heir. With his fire and passion for his people, LeBeau had also become a key figure in the rebuilding of his country, and eventually, the much beloved mayor of his town. The thought made Newkirk smile…somehow it made perfect sense…his little mate, finally the most important man in town.

And Kinch…ahhh, Kinch. It had taken them all a long time to completely forgive Carter for that one. Even though once they reached London they understood what had happened—that Andrew had had no choice. It still had hurt. It had taken a few days to get over the shock. And then, that last night, he, Newkirk, had presented them all with the flasks he had gotten for them. Carter had almost refused his…but in the end…they were brothers, all of them. Always.

Newkirk sighed and leaned back into the airliner seat. The stewardess had brought him a cup of coffee, and he sipped it gratefully. The girl smiled indifferently at him, and turned away making her way around to the other passengers. Peter chuckled quietly, remembering the days when he would likely have flirted with her…and just as likely have made a fool of himself. He placed the cup on the table in front of him. _"Ah, Andrew lad, where the hell are you?"_

~TBC~


	6. The Watcher

Late Spring, 1944

 _It was a dark and stormy night_ ," smirked Carter to himself. He was alone down in the tunnel below Barracks 2. The storm that had been threatening all day had finally hit them, and he knew he had to get the messages he had received translated and transmitted to London before they lost radio contact. He bent to his task and began copying the German code, translating it automatically into Lakota in his head and then sending it on to London. It was an arduous task, requiring extreme concentration.

He was so focused that he never noticed the figure watching him from the shadows. The watcher never moved, only observing the blond head bent over the codes and the radio as he worked. The watcher stood silent and still as a stone, as he had done several times before…watching the young warrior working at a task that he kept hidden from his brothers…watching, and wondering. After another hour, the figure faded into the darkness, and made his way back to his place in the barracks above. The watcher had many questions, and was afraid of the answers.

~HH~

Hours later, Carter smiled as he signed off with London, another of his code-talking assignments complete. He meticulously straightened out the papers on the desk, leaving it in exactly the order he found it. He reset the frequency to exactly the spot it was in when he sat down. It made him smile each time he used the code name given him by his British and American superiors: "Lone Wolf." They had thought it appropriate, as he was the only active code talker to ever operate from within a prisoner-of-war camp. His teammates would probably only laugh. They had no clue who Andrew J. Carter really was. They never would.

~HH~

The watcher could not sleep. He had known Carter for a long time. But he also knew what he had heard in the tunnel. Andrew had been speaking German and some other incomprehensible language on the radio. It wasn't so much the other language that bothered him, because, well, it was Carter. What bothered him was the German. The watcher spoke flawless German, and those messages were not messages that had been sent to Papa Bear's organization. They were not from the Underground…the watcher would have known. The watcher knew nothing about them. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. And the watcher had no idea what to do about it. For now, he would do as he had been doing all along. He would watch and wait, but not for much longer.

~HH~

Even the most careful of men, usually of necessity, develop patterns. And so it was with Carter. He tried to keep his nocturnal radio missions down to a bare minimum, to avoid detection. It was a tricky business avoiding Kinch and Baker, but so far, he had been successful. His undoing came totally by chance.

It was a simple quirk of fate that sent Kinch into the tunnel during a mission a few weeks later when everyone besides Carter was supposed to be gone. It was an unusual situation, as Baker was in the infirmary with a bad case of the flu, and Carter, who was recovering from the same, had volunteered to watch the radio, since he was in no shape for the four-mile hike the mission would involve.

Hogan had sent Kinch back ahead of the rest, since the information they had received during the mission was particularly urgent, and Hogan knew London needed it immediately.

Kinch dropped into the tunnel and headed straight towards his radio, his mind on the details of the message he was to send to London. He was surprised to hear Carter sending a message over the radio in an odd guttural language that was definitely not German, but Kinch knew he had heard it somewhere before. He paused, confused.

For a few moments, he could only stare. He listened in shock as Carter switched to English briefly and then to the odd language again. It took him only a moment longer to realize why it sounded familiar. He had heard Carter speak it before. That was when it hit Kinch. He put two and two together. His teammate was a code talker. He had to be. And he was using Kinch's equipment. In secret. Which meant Col. Hogan knew nothing about it.

He waited for Andrew to end the transmission and stepped up next to him. He expected Carter to look shocked or maybe even slightly guilty. What he did not expect was the expression of deep sorrow.

~HH~

Carter stood and watched the bigger man for a moment. "Kinch." He sighed deeply.

Kinch leaned against the wall and shook out a couple of cigarettes. He offered one to Andrew, and they smoked for a few minutes, saying nothing.

Kinch finally broke the silence, staring not at Carter, but at the burning end of his cigarette. "So, were you ever gonna tell the Colonel?"

Andrew looked over at Kinch and spoke evenly. "No, Kinch. I can't. No one was ever supposed to know. No one _can_ know."

There was a long silence as Carter's meaning became clear. Kinch was nothing if not pragmatic. He was facing something he had never expected; but nothing in his life had ever been easy.

He went to his radio, and fired it up, transmitting the information to London for Hogan as he had been ordered. Afterwards, he exchanged a long look with Carter, handed him the mic, and stepped back, trusting his fate to London and to his teammate.

Crisply, Carter spoke. "Wolf Den, this is Lone Wolf. Be advised, Code Grey."

There was a pause, and then a clipped British accent came back, "Acknowledged, Lone Wolf. Will advise Lone Eagle immediately. Stand down until further notice. Next contact 0200 tomorrow. Take all precautions. Wolf Den out."

"Acknowledged, Wolf Den, Lone Wolf out."

Carter ran his fingers through his hair and blew out his breath tiredly. He had never imagined it would come to this. He knew what Lone Eagle's decision would be, and he knew nobody on the team would understand, especially because none of them would be able to know the truth until after the war. Just one more secret he would have to keep. Sometimes he wished he could go back and tell his fifteen-year-old self to just mind his own business and stay the hell out of the army. *

Kinch broke into his thoughts. "So, what happens now?"

"Now, we wait. I think I know what my superior is gonna say about the situation, but I can't say anything until I get the word. And, Kinch, you can't say or do anything different at all."

"I know, Carter. I get it." Grimly, Carter nodded.

They settled down to wait, and it was only a short time later that the rest of the team returned. They were jubilant because the mission had been a success.

The two men slowly made their way back up to the barracks above. The watcher heard them come into the room, and he wondered…

~TBC~

*A/N: See "Honorable Lies"


	7. Captured

May, 1964

Andrew wasn't exactly sure what had happened. He remembered hearing the patrol and diving off the trail. He had crouched as low to the ground as he could. Something must have given him away. He had no idea, but the next thing he knew, three Viet Cong soldiers were pointing their rifles in his face. Momma Carter never raised a foolish child in her life, and Andrew surrendered quickly and without resisting. They frisked him quickly, removed his boots, which one of the soldiers promptly tied over his shoulder. They tied his arms behind him, and marched him down the trail, opposite of the way he had been heading. As the undergrowth cut into his feet, Major Andrew Carter realized he was deeper trouble than he had ever been in his life.

They marched for several hours, taking twisting turns on the path, until it suddenly turned into a track of sorts. Andrew would not have called it a road, but it was wider, and seemed to be leading towards a clearing at the edge of the jungle. When they reached the edge of the open area, Carter had to struggle to hide his reaction. They were at a prisoner-of-war camp. One with a very familiar name. And he wondered just why fate tended to laugh at him…

~HH~

Newkirk was frustrated. He sat in a seedy bar in downtown Tokyo. No one bothered with the down-out-heel rummy lounging in the dark recesses of the bar. He had been in and out over the last several nights, which pretty much made him a local. His ragged RAF greatcoat marked him as a veteran, and there were many such who hung out there. No one cared where anyone was from, or why they were there. If you messed with the wrong party, then you ended up in the back alley, with your throat slit. But the booze was decent, and usually didn't kill anyone. For most, that was all that mattered.

He had met his contact on his second night in town, but the man had little new information. He reckoned Andrew was either dead somewhere in the jungle, or captured…which meant he was probably dead anyway. He did say he would check around, but advised Newkirk that it was likely a fool's errand. That had been two nights ago, and he had heard nothing since.

Peter was not willing to simply walk away. If Carter was alive, Newkirk was determined to find him, and bring him home. He would bring him home either way, but if he was dead…God have mercy on those responsible, because there would be none from Peter Newkirk.

~HH~

Charlie liked to make a big deal out of humiliating the new prisoners. One way they did that was by lining up a group of the "old-timers" and parading the new men past them, while shouting curses and insults at all of them; mocking their helplessness. They had no idea Carter had been through it all before. Only the first time, he had been a young kid…just 16 ½ years old…and his age had been a secret at the time. It was not until the earthquake that nearly wiped out Stalag 13 that anyone had discovered his true age. And by that point, he had felt like an old man any way.

Now? Well, he would do what had to be done. He would survive…and he would see to the completion of his assignment…because of all the prison camps he could have been sent to, it was this one… _their_ camp. Or, at least the one he had received all the intelligence on from his last contact. He just never expected to end up a prisoner here. Camp 208 was the one they had designated, had researched, and had chosen. There was even a man inside with whom underground contact had been tentatively established.

Carter had no more time for reflection, as the commander of the camp, who spoke fluent English as well as French and Vietnamese, suddenly stopped in front of him, eying him carefully. Andrew stood straight, and returned the glare with a bored, almost disinterested stare. If he had read the man correctly—he felt, rather than saw—the stinging blow to the side of his head. He staggered, but did not fall. He merely straightened up again…and faced his tormentor in stony silence.

After a few moments inspection, the Vietnamese officer nodded. "You are now the ranking officer among the prisoners. I will deal with you, and you only. See that you remain alive, and _do not_ attempt to escape, or it will go badly for your men." And with that, the man turned on his heel and marched back to his office, leaving a stunned Andrew Carter staring at his back.

~HH~

General Hogan sat behind his desk, trying to hear over the abominable overseas connection. The static made it nearly impossible. "Say again? Newkirk, I can't hear you! What's happening?" He heard something about 'no leads yet,' and 'contact a bit dodgy,' but could make out very little else, and the transmission suddenly cut out altogether. He hollered for his secretary to get the call back, but it was no use…Newkirk was gone.

 _Damn him_ , Hogan thought in frustration. _Information! I need information. Without it, I can't do anything, except sit here like a bump on a log._ He huffed out a breath. Sometimes he missed the Stalag…at least there he felt like he was in charge…sort of. This led his thought down much more dangerous paths, and for a few minutes, he let himself indulge.

He missed his men, and he was scared right now. He unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and took out the photograph…the last one taken of the two of them together. It had been quite a night…Of course, they hadn't known it would be the last one. Who ever did? And then…he shut his eyes and shook his head. No, he couldn't do this. He didn't have time.

He touched the face in the faded photo one last time, and returned it to the drawer. Regrets hung heavily as he locked the drawer. He then picked up the framed photo that had pride of place on his desk. He caressed the well-loved face gently. "I'm sorry, Marilyn…so sorry." As he placed the frame back on the desk, his secretary's voice came over the intercom. "Major Rice is here for your meeting, General."

"Thank you, Sergeant. Please show him in." And General Hogan turned to other matters as he awaited news from his two dearest friends.

~HH~

A/N: All details within and numbering of any POW camps are fictionalized, and are based upon research, second-hand knowledge of actual conditions in Vietnam, and the author's imagination.


	8. Operation Switch

Late Spring 1944

Since it was not unusual for Kinch to monitor the radio late at night, and since Carter was prone to minor bouts of insomnia, it was not difficult for the two men to make their way to the radio at the appointed hour the following morning.

Waiting had been hard for both of them, especially for Kinch, who had no idea what the answer from London might mean for him. He knew escape was impossible, and yet, how could he stay? Carter's superior had made it clear that _he_ , not Carter, was the security risk now. Yet, he was vital to Papa Bear's mission…Consequently, Kinch arrived at his station feeling very apprehensive and confused.

Carter, on the other hand, had spent the time in his lab, preparing for the mission he had never wanted to undertake. Once he had been compromised, he realized he would have to act. He had known what the decision about Kinch would be. The discussion had taken place long ago, in London, shortly before his assignment to Stalag 13. And so, with a heavy heart, Carter prepared to crush the men of Barracks Two.

He had the ingredients among the chemicals he stored on his shelves, so it was not hard to mix the compound. He knew that convincing Kinch to agree to swallow the bitter brew would be difficult, but he also felt that was part of his own penance for having been caught in the first place. He would just have to make Kinch understand that this was the only possible solution…

~HH~

Urgent trunk calls had been flying back and forth between Allied Headquarters in London and Washington, DC. for hours. The identity of one of their most secret and valued assets had been compromised, by another of their most secret and valued assets. It was an espionage nightmare. They had prepared, but they had also prayed they would never have to implement their plan.

As the time for contact approached, Wolf Den prepared to contact Lone Wolf and set Operation Switch into motion. And for the very first time, another asset would have to be brought into play…a most dangerous, but necessary element if the plan was to have any chance of success at all. Wolf Den was not happy, but understood the situation. Bald Eagle would have to be informed, as he would need to be aware of his own vulnerability as well as be ready to assist Lone Wolf, if necessary.

Bald Eagle was sound asleep when the call came through. It came directly to his private quarters, on a telephone line that was not wired into his office. It was not tapped, because only one other person in camp knew of its existence. And that man had long ago disabled any ability for anyone else to tap it, or listen in on it. Klink was startled, because that phone never rang. It was never supposed to ring. Only four words were uttered, but he knew things would never be the same again. He shuddered as he put down the receiver, and lay back in his bed. Four words… "Code Grey. Operation Switch."

Quietly, he lay thinking, planning. There was much to be done, and very little time.

~HH~

The call came through, exactly on time. Kinch looked to Carter, who took the lead and picked up the mic and answered the call. It was Wolf Den, and the message was brief and to the point. "Lone Wolf: Operation Switch is now confirmed. All components are in place. Proceed as planned. Contact when ready for next phase."

For a brief moment, Kinch watched as pain flashed across Carter's face. He nodded, and then, "Acknowledged. Lone Wolf, out."

Kinch raised an eyebrow. "Operation Switch?"

Carter nodded slowly. "Sit down, Kinch…we gotta talk."

~HH~

Early the next afternoon, Kinch brought Hogan a message. As he read it, Hogan grew more and more incredulous. The core team gathered around him as he began to pace, a full-blown rant threatening to erupt. "This is ridiculous! They want us to take out a munitions factory clear over by Heistroffen. * That's over twenty kilometers away. And they say they want it done immediately-like yesterday! It's vital, of course."

Kinch took his cue, as previously planned, stealing one last glance at Carter. He had taken the bitter concoction just before he had climbed the ladder, and he knew it wouldn't be long… He clutched at his chest, faking discomfort at first. "Colonel, I don't know what—something doesn't feel right."

Hogan looked at him in alarm. "What it is it, what's wrong?"

He began to gasp for air, suddenly in true agony. Hogan and Newkirk caught him as he collapsed. Hogan yelled for someone to get Wilson. As the edges of his consciousness began to fade, his eyes locked onto Carter's. Although Kinch could no longer speak, Carter understood. _I'm trusting you._

Just then, Sgt. Wilson pushed his way through the group. He examined the stricken man. He tried everything he knew. But nothing worked. After a few minutes, he looked up into their shocked faces. "This man is dead. I can't know for sure…but I think it was his heart." And because no one knew exactly how to react, they placed him on a spare bunk, and laid a blanket over him. And then they all sat and stared at each other in total silence. Wilson, professional that he was, seemed to come out of it first.

He placed his hand on Hogan's shoulder. His voice was hoarse. "We must go and see the Kommandant."

Hogan stared at the bunk. He still could not wrap his mind around it. Kinch…gone. From a damned heart attack? It just wasn't right. He jumped slightly at Wilson's touch, then shook himself. "Yeah, yes. Of course."

Carter decided now would be a good time to push the plan. The others needed an outlet for their grief and anger, and he might as well be it. Besides, they really did need the next piece to fall into place.

As he wiped the tears from his face, he asked, "What about London, sir? What about the mission?"

Predictably, Newkirk reacted first. Although he had shown little outward reaction, the loss had hit him hard. At Carter's words, Newkirk completely lost it. He rounded on his friend. "Mission? Who cares about the bloody mission? What's wrong with you?!" He would have swung on Carter had Hogan not intervened.

Hogan held up a hand. "Stop it, guys. We'll talk about it when I get back. Just…" he broke off, tired and suddenly feeling totally lost. He tried to speak, but finally just shook his head and walked away.

LeBeau glared at Carter as the door to the barracks shut. "You feel nothing, Andre'? That is not like you."

Carter shook his head vehemently. "No! That's not it! I just…he would want us to do it, that's all. I'm sorry."

As he stumbled towards the tunnel bunk and activated the latch, he heard the angry muttering behind him. His friends had no idea how broken he was at that moment. And as he hid in the debris of one of the old blocked-off tunnels, he struggled to regain his composure. He knew nothing would ever be the same. He stayed still for a time, then began to calculate how long Kinch would be out. The mission would go on. He knew that. He knew Hogan. It would be a way to channel the grief and anger for the men, and Hogan would realize it.

He just prayed that someday, they would forgive him, when they learned the truth.

~TBC~

A/N: * Heistroffen is a fictional town.


	9. It's Complicated

May 1964

Galen, Virginia

Hilda Carter sat on the edge of the examination table. She stared at the doctor in disbelief. She had not felt well for a while now, but simply thought it was just a touch of the flu, or even a side effect of sympathy pains when Andrew had to get his shots for his overseas trip. Those inoculations, even after all these years, still made Andrew sick as a dog. Few people knew about it, because he always acted so stoic when it happened that he fooled all but his closest friends.

Now she stared at the doctor, completely in shock. She had to ask him to repeat himself, as he could not have said what she thought he said.

Smiling, the doctor obliged. "Congratulations, Mrs. Carter! You're going to have a baby!"

Immediately, Hilda began to protest. "I can't be pregnant…I have two grown sons! One is at the Air Force Academy, and the other is at West Point!"

The doctor chuckled. "Well, they are going to have a little brother or sister in about six months or so."

Hilda shook her head. Her thoughts flew about like unruly, fluttering chickens. "But I just can't be. I'm too old …Andrew…what will I tell Andrew?"

The doctor smiled, used to dealing with military wives and their reactions. He assumed her husband was deployed. "I suppose you'll just have a surprise for him when he comes home, won't you?"

Hilda had been staring blankly into the distance, and suddenly the doctor's words registered with her. Her hand flew to her mouth. "Doctor, my husband is missing. He went on an assignment for work, and disappeared. He's been gone for a week!"

The doctor, concerned now, placed his hand comfortingly on her shoulder. "I am so sorry. Is he deployed?"

"No, he works for the Pentagon."

The doctor recoiled slightly. Obviously, his patient had good reason for her distress. He sighed, and then got back to business.

"Mrs. Carter, you are not too old. The baby should be just fine. The important thing is to take good care of yourself. And that includes not worrying so much that you make yourself sick. Your husband wouldn't want that."

Hilda nodded. The doctor was right. Andrew would be shocked, but he would love this baby as much as she did. And she smiled when she realized it was true. She was already in love with her baby.

As the doctor left the room, telling her to see him in about a month, Hilda softly muttered, "Andrew Joseph Carter, wherever you are, you had better come home safely, and soon! And when you do, I am going to kill you."

~HH~

Andrew stood for a moment longer, staring at the closed door of the office. He let his gaze drift over the hundred or so men standing in the yard. They stared back at him with a mixture of hope and fear written on their faces. He knew exactly how they felt. The guards had stepped away from him, content at the moment to simply observe; but their rifles were held at the ready, and Andrew had no doubt they would shoot at the slightest provocation.

He made his way over to the prisoners, who stiffened into various attitudes of attention when he approached. One man, who had the bearing, if not the uniform, of an officer, stepped up to him and saluted. "Flight Lieutenant Patrick Fields, RAF, temporarily in command, sir." He looked down at the ragged clothes he wore, remnants of what had once been his uniform. "Sorry about the kit, sir, but none of us are much better off than any of the others. Bloody bastards steal anything that manages to get through from the Red Cross. None of us have had our packages in months."

Although the accent was slightly different, the pang that went thorough Carter just then as he thought of Newkirk was very sharp, indeed. He smiled at the dark-haired young flyer with the bright blue eyes. Fields suddenly remembered something, and saluted once again. "Oh, and begging your pardon, sir. Flight Lt. Fields, hereby relinquishing command, sir."

Carter returned the salute automatically, and the immensity of the situation hit him as he accepted command. And the thought uppermost in his mind was, _Oh, dear God, I am not Colonel Hogan! What do I do now?_ Fortunately, years of experience and maturity had trained him well. He was no longer the happy-go-lucky kid brother of Stalag 13. His face betrayed no emotion as he turned to Fields.

"I am appointing you my second. Any objections?"

Fields smiled briefly. "None, sir. I will do my best."

Andrew nodded solemnly. "As will I, Lieutenant, as will I."

As he turned away, another young prisoner beckoned him to the back side of the building. When they were relatively hidden, he handed Carter a pair of boots that looked about his size, along with a pair of socks.

Andrew was surprised. "Thank you. Where did you get these?"

The man smiled. "I have _connections_. See Duffy about something to help your feet. He has some salve." There was something in his tone that made Carter study him a bit closer. He looked familiar. The ginger-haired prisoner nodded slightly. As he turned to walk away, his brown eyes danced a bit. "Keep thinking sir. It will come to you."

~HH~

"Junior, you hush!" His mother swatted him as Andy Carter whooped with laughter when he heard the news about his mother. He didn't even bother to scowl at the childhood nickname. He had come home on a brief furlough before classes began again at West Point. His parents lived close enough that it was not difficult for him to get home when he had short breaks, although there were very few of them. Andy, who looked very much like his father grinned at his mother, still teasing her. "So much for that sewing room, hey, Ma?"

His identical twin, Pete was not so lucky. Pete was out in Colorado, at the Air Force Academy. His family had not seen him in nearly a year. Hilda was planning to tell him about the baby, and about his father when he made his weekly call to her on Sunday afternoon. The only good thing was that the boys were both used to their father's absences. She had not told either of them that he was actually missing yet. She hoped to hear from Peter in Tokyo, and that the conversation would be unnecessary.

~HH~

Newkirk had been cooling his heels for nearly a week when his patience, or rather, a good facsimile of patience, finally paid off. His contact sent a message to him, telling him he had met someone who might know something. Wary of the vague message, Newkirk made his way to the meet, in an abandoned building on the outskirts of town. He kept his pencil sharpener in his hand, concealed in the pocket of his greatcoat. His gun was tucked securely in the waistband of his trousers.

The contact was not there…but someone else was. Someone he had not seen in years. Someone they all had assumed was dead. His eyes widened in shock at the sight of her.

"Tiger?"

~HH~


	10. Good-Bye to a Friend

Late Spring, 1944

The men were sitting silently around the table when Hogan returned. Nothing had prepared any of them for this, and no one was quite sure what to do. There had been deaths in the camp before, but nothing like this…not someone they were all so close to.

Hogan's face was set with anger and determination when he returned. Klink had been appalled by the news, and suggested they plan a service for Kinch, a move that had surprised and pleased him initially. The anger set in on his way back to the barracks. He knew that even though they had jumped on Carter about wanting to go through with the mission, he was right. Kinch would not have wanted that factory spared because of his death.

He had to figure out what to do about Kinch. He needed to be buried as soon as possible, but at the same time, London needed to get the mission completed, and he could not do both at the same time. As much as he hated the idea, someone would have to stay and bury Kinch while the others went and took care of the factory. Leaving Kinch until after the mission was impossible…not with the way things were. And from what the message had said, that factory was putting out hundreds of weapons every day. It had to be stopped.

And so, on his way over, he made his decision. He would ask for a volunteer to stay and take care of his friend. He knew his place was on the mission, as much as he wanted to be the one to stay. He stepped into the barracks, and presented his plan. He was not particularly surprised when Carter was the one who broke the silence that followed.

"I'll stay, colonel. Fitz can go with you. He can handle the explosives as well as I can. Besides, it's been a while since he's been out." He looked around at the others. "Besides, you might work better together without me this time. I'll take good care of Kinch, I promise."

Any protests at his words died as he stood and looked around. "I'll go get started. It will be dark soon. I'll have everything ready and bury him while you're gone. Less chance of any interference from the guards that way."

Hogan nodded. He turned to LeBeau. "Louis, I know no one feels like eating, but please make sure everyone gets at least some soup or something." LeBeau nodded woodenly and headed towards the pantry. He looked back at Hogan. "We will have a memorial, yes?"

"Yes. Klink already suggested it himself. I will see him tomorrow about the time, but we can use the Rec Hall." He sighed. "I hate this…we've lost others, but this hurts so damned bad."

As Carter reached for the bunk latch, he turned and looked at his friends. He knew he couldn't give anything away now, not when it was all working out so well; even better than he had planned…but it hurt to know all of this was his fault. He climbed down the ladder quickly, but paused as he reached the bottom. He whispered, "I am so sorry, guys." He grabbed a shovel and headed out to the cemetery.

~HH~

It was just after roll call when they began to prepare for their mission. Newkirk had managed to borrow a truck, so they had transportation ready, parked just outside camp. He had given the guard a bit extra because they needed a full tank of gas. The guard had not been happy about that, but in the end, they got the truck, fully fueled and ready to go.

During the previous couple of hours, each one of them had come to the bunk, and sat with Kinch's body for a little while, to say good-bye. It was painful, but each felt a little better…a little less like they were deserting him to carry out the mission. Taffy had placed a chair next to the bunk, and quietly sat with him first, paving the way for the others. He had not known Kinch very well, but he was a good man, and a loyal friend to the others. He would miss him.

Taffy watched the others, ready to step in if they wanted to talk, or needed him. None of them did. They simply sat and said their goodbyes. Newkirk seemed on edge and more restless than normal as he sat. Taffy wanted to reach out to him, but knew that Newkirk would not appreciate it. Mentally, he began to plan the memorial service. He would talk to Colonel Hogan, and make sure everything was the way he wanted it.

A few minutes before they were ready to leave, Hogan, Newkirk, LeBeau and Carter carried Kinch out to the cemetery. They had wrapped him in a couple of new blankets that Schultz had brought for that purpose. The big German was heartbroken, as he had always liked Kinch. He did not stay, realizing they needed time. They were all grateful for the gesture.

~HH~

The team left for the mission, leaving Carter to his grim task. When he was sure that he was alone, Carter pulled a syringe out of his pocket and injected the contents into Kinch. He removed the blankets, and waited, knowing the cold air would help revive him. As he waited, he filled in the grave he had dug earlier. No one would have any reason to suspect the grave was empty.

Just as he finished, he heard Kinch moan. He crouched down next to him as he began to awaken. It took a few minutes for Kinch to orient himself, but Carter was pleased to see he had suffered no apparent ill effects. Kinch lay quiet for a few minutes, and then sat up, gingerly. "Did you get the number of the truck that hit me?"

Carter smiled. "Sorry about that. It's just that the drug I gave you caused muscle contractions. You'll be sore for a couple of days."

Kinch grimaced. "Great."

Carter looked him over more carefully. "Actually, you look pretty good for a dead guy."

Kinch smirked as Carter helped him up. "Gee, thanks."

"Come on, we need to get you out of here before the team gets back. I'll go get your bag. I hid it in the lab. You wait here and stay low." With that, Carter hurried away.

Kinch sat back and sighed. He knew the rest of the plan. He just hoped they managed to pull it off without either one of them getting shot.

~TBC~


	11. Welcome to Hell

May, 1964

Galen, Virginia*

Leticia Newkirk nearly dropped her coffee cup as she sat across the kitchen table from her closest friend. She stared at Hilda, unsure if she had heard her correctly.

"You're what?"

Hilda smiled. "That's exactly what I said to the doctor. And yes, I am. He thinks I may be about three months along. Junior has been giving me no end of grief over it."

"You mean, he's not happy about it?"

"No, he's teasing me. I think he is in shock, just like I was."

Leticia formed her next question carefully. "Are you okay about it? I mean, are you happy?"

Hilda smiled again, a bit sadly. "Yes, I am. But I would be a lot happier if Andrew were here."

Leticia nodded in empathy. "I know what you mean. I haven't heard from Peter at all—not since he called me in London to tell me he was headed for Tokyo." She sighed. "But then, he does things like this all the time. I've gotten used to it. I just hope he finds Andrew soon."

Hilda nodded slightly, tears brimming in her eyes. Leticia sighed, and moved around the table to embrace her best friend. It was funny, actually. The two of them were almost exactly the same age, and both had many things in common that were outside the realm of "normal existence." Their husbands had been friends for more years than they cared to count. They had faced danger together countless times. The women had both emigrated from Germany, and moved to this small suburb in Virginia. And now, they would face whatever came, together. Unwilling to become maudlin, Leticia changed the subject.

"So, how are you doing with babysitting the colonel?" One mark of his closest friends was that most of them rarely referred to the general as anything but "colonel." It was a show of respect for what they had all shared together. He knew it, and treasured it.

Hilda chuckled. "Well, he is back at work. He stayed down for two days, and managed to badger his way out of staying home any longer. I know his not being able to go himself to find Andrew is not helping him at all. He trusts Peter with his life, but hates being on the sidelines. I told him that would change once Peter finds him." A determined spark came into her eye. "And Peter _will_ find him."

Leticia nodded. She gazed sadly at her friend. Neither of them had any illusions…but neither would they ever admit their fears aloud. Peter _would_ find him. There was simply no other alternative.

~HH~

May, 1964

Camp 208, North Vietnam

A short time after pulling on the socks and boots behind the shed, Andrew and the others were herded back inside their prison. It was, as Andrew had known, different than many of the other prisons. This was why they had chosen it. In this camp, unlike many of the others, there were actual buildings, and not just cages. The reason for this was that Charlie had taken over a small deserted village and turned it into a prison. The huts were mostly made of wood, with a few bamboo buildings thrown into the mix.

Of course, the Commander had taken the best building for his office and quarters. It had apparently been some sort of communal building, as it was the largest there, and built of clay bricks. There were about three hundred prisoners being held in the camp, from what Andrew could tell. Not all of them had been paraded outside, and many were still inside when Andrew and the others were pushed into the make-shift barracks. The doors were locked behind them, and he quickly learned that they were unlocked for only two hours per day, and then only under heavy guard.

The barracks were hot and dark, as all the windows had been covered over and nailed shut. As Andrew's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see that there were about thirty men staring sullenly back at him. He would have to go it on his own here, as Lt. Fields had been pushed into another barracks across the compound. He turned to the expectant men, and just as he began to speak, he saw a familiar face. The soldier who had given him the boots was sitting quietly on his mat and watching him carefully.

There was something so familiar about him that Andrew was distracted by it. He knew he had never seen the young man before, but there was something…He took a moment to clear his mind, and then looked around at all the men. Again, the sense of responsibility threatened to overwhelm him. He shook those thoughts away, and took a deep breath. He was no Hogan, but he was no slouch, either.

In a low voice, he introduced himself as their Senior POW Officer. As he expected, most of them were already aware of his presence and rank, even though they had not yet met him. This spoke well of the prison grapevine, and he hoped to take advantage of it. He would take a few days to get acquainted with the men, and with the prison itself. Then, he would begin carefully casting about for a core team…because Andrew had no intention of wasting the opportunity he had been given. And he was determined to help get as many of these of the men home safely as he could. He spoke very briefly to them, simply telling them to let him know if they had any issues beyond what he had already learned. From the men's expressions, he could tell that he would be busy.

After he had been shown to a sleeping mat in the least objectionable corner of the barracks, his benefactor tapped him lightly on the shoulder. The young man smiled briefly, and said, "Welcome to Hell, major. Don't worry, it's not always this bad…most of the time, it's worse." He chuckled bitterly, his dark eyes flashing. Traces of his accent came through, and that was when it hit Andrew. He knew why he looked so familiar. _But, it wasn't possible, was it?_

He looked squarely into the young man's eyes. "What is your name, soldier?"

He was met with a challenging glare, but he answered all the same. "I recognized you from a photo my mother carries. She knew you all very, very well. She is the bravest person I ever met. She carried on, even after my father left her behind. And she has never allowed me to hate him for it."

Andrew's mind was reeling with this new information, and he said, even more urgently, "What is your name?"

The copper hair flashed in the dull light as he tossed his head, and stared at Carter. "Sgt. Anton Monet…sir."

~TBC~

*Galen is a fictitious town, located near Washington, D.C.


	12. Our Man in London

**Late Spring, 1944**

Carter was back so quickly, he surprised Kinch. One thing that gave credence to Carter's heritage was his ability, when he chose to use it, to sneak up on someone almost totally silently. Kinch had noticed it before, but that didn't stop him from jumping out of his skin when Carter tapped his shoulder from behind.

Carter grinned when Kinch rolled his eyes. "Sorry about that." He handed Kinch his duffel. "Are you ready?"

Kinch snorted. "What, I look like I wanna hang around waiting for a patrol?"

Carter smirked as they headed for the airfield. It was a bit of a hike, but Carter was confident he could make it back to camp before the team got back. They stayed as quiet as possible, and made it to the side of the airfield undetected. They hid in the undergrowth waiting for the plane that would carry Kinch to London. Carter glanced over, and noticed that Kinch was praying silently. He waited until he was done, and then shyly said, "Do you mind if I add a blessing to your prayers?"

Kinch smiled. "Of course, I don't mind. I can use all the help I can get."

In a low voice, Carter recited a short blessing in Lakota.* He then repeated it in English. "God, guide my brother and keep him safe."

He then looked up as they heard the plane approaching. They watched it land, and Kinch turned to Carter. "Well, I guess this it."

Carter smiled ruefully and nodded. "You'll be our man in London now. It's just that no one at Stalag 13 will know it until after the war."

Kinch sighed. "Not a conversation I'm looking forward to."

Andrew smirked. "You? I'll be the one they're gonna be mad at. They already are."

Kinch put his hand on Carter's arm. "It's not your fault. It just happened. Don't beat yourself up over it." From the pain that flashed in Andrew's eyes, Kinch knew he had hit a nerve. He said nothing more, as there really was nothing he could say, and there wasn't time anyway. The pilot signaled for him to get aboard, and Kinch reached for his duffel. Just as suddenly, he dropped the bag and pulled Carter into a quick, fierce hug. "Thanks for everything, man. You made this place bearable."

Startled, Andrew froze for a moment. He had never expected such an action from the normally stoic Kinch. Mutely, he hugged him back. Kinch retrieved the bag and ran for the plane. In moments, the door had closed, and the plane took off. Kinch was gone.

Andrew sighed, and turned back toward the forest path. Kinch was really gone.

 **~HH~**

Memorial services. Newkirk hated them with a passion. He hated this whole mess. He was still so angry over what had happened. Kinch had no right to die on them, and Andrew had no right to treat his death so matter-of-factly. Peter knew none of what he was thinking was really rational, but he couldn't help the emotions flooding him. He and Andrew had not spoken since the team had returned from the mission. Thankfully, it had been a success, and no one had gotten hurt. But the group was completely silent on the return trip. In fact, Newkirk hadn't said a word to anyone at all ever since.

He listened morosely as Taffy conducted the brief, but touching service. Newkirk's problem was that he just could not believe Kinch was dead. He could handle death. He could handle bullets. He had lost other friends to the war, of course, and even a few friends from the streets…but Kinch? To a heart attack? It was absurd. And so, he was seethingly angry. He sat rigidly straight, with his arms crossed. His green eyes, normally dancing with mischief or glittering with danger, were dull and lifeless.

Newkirk's posture and demeanor were not lost on Hogan. His heart was hurting, and he was no less angry at the irony of it all. Kinch had been much more than his second. He had been the closest thing Hogan had to a best friend here. His own best friend was back in the States…unable to serve due to being 4F. It was not Ray's fault he was damned near blind without his glasses. His vision was so poor, the army would not even consider him. And so, he did what he could at home. What that was, Hogan had no idea, since he had not heard from him since his capture. Letters from family had a hard time getting through to the POWs. Letters from friends were nearly impossible.

Hogan watched Newkirk for a few moments. He sighed, realizing there was going to be a volcanic eruption from his English corporal before very long…and he had a feeling Carter was going to be the one caught in the explosion. Although the two were best friends, Peter felt things much more deeply than he ever let on. And he was sure that Peter felt betrayed by Carter's odd reaction to Kinch's death. His gaze switched to his youngest team member…

Carter had been running on automatic pilot since their return from the mission. He spoke no more than was necessary, ate very little, and seemed to be awake every time Hogan had checked on his men. He nearly always found Carter sitting at the table, drinking coffee and smoking. And he was always alone. Newkirk had spent most of his time outside, sitting alone on the bench he and Andrew usually shared. He sat, staring into the distance, and smoked silently. Hogan then looked over at his French corporal.

LeBeau sat watching and listening intently. He had shown little outward reaction, but those who knew him well realized Kinch's death had also affected him deeply. Unlike his teammates, he had continued to be chatty, but if you listened to his words, they were full of pain. The undercurrent around him was deep and complex, much like the man himself. LeBeau's mind wandered as he tuned out Taffy's useless words.

LeBeau was actually one of the older men in camp. He was a year older than Hogan, although no one really thought about it. He had turned down the chance to be an officer early in his career with the French army, even though he had the education and bearing to make a fine officer. He had left the regular army at a higher rank when he threw himself into fighting for France in the Free French Forces. He had only been fighting a short while, as a pilot when he was captured…hence, he was only a corporal.

He pulled his mind back to the present as he realized Taffy had stopped speaking. Taffy had invited those who wished to say something to come up and join him. For a long moment, no one moved. And then Hogan made his way to the front. And his men watched as he struggled through a eulogy of sorts.

Hogan was not one to wear his feelings on his sleeve, but he barely made it through a few sentences, before he could bear it no longer. His words stumbled to a stop. He stood motionless, until Taffy finally nodded towards the men. Carter stood and escorted Hogan back to his seat, before he too, silently broke down. Taffy quietly ended the service, and all but the core team filed out. Not a sound could be heard in the room as they sat, each lost in their own thoughts. And Taffy wondered how they would heal from this deep wound. He sighed. Like any other wound, it would heal. Slowly, and painfully, perhaps, but in time, it would heal.

 **~TBC~**

 **A/N:** I don't speak Lakota. . Therefore, I will simply differentiate when Andrew is speaking in Lakota. For my Baker fans, don't worry…his turn is coming, along with some of the other "second row" heroes.


	13. Connections

May, 1964

Tokyo

Newkirk stared a moment longer, until his brain processed the fact that it really was the beautiful French spy standing in front of him. The light was very dim inside the warehouse, but he would have known her anywhere. She stepped out further from the shadows and Newkirk was shocked when he got a better look at her. She smiled sadly, knowing he was reacting to the jagged scar that now ran down the side of her face. She stepped up to him as his face hardened, and touched his cheek. They had known each other for many years, and she knew how he operated.

"Please, don't be angry, Peter. It happened long ago. And the man who gave it to me is dead."

She nearly chuckled when disappointment flashed in his emerald eyes. She stepped back. "Do not look so upset, my friend. You were the one who killed him."

Sudden understanding dawned. "You mean…"

Tiger nodded. "Yes. It was Oberst Friedrich Hess.* I was caught not long after I escaped to London to work with the underground there. Apparently, Hess still held a grudge against me…" She touched her own cheek briefly, almost out of reflex.

Newkirk shook his head and sighed. He peered at her, pain still in his eyes. "We heard you had gone back to Germany. We heard you were dead."

"I did go back…I went back to find Hess, same as you. That was after he found me in London, and had made his escape. The underground spread the rumor that I was dead, so that I could move about more freely. I would have found a way to contact Robbie, but, then I heard he had married. I decided it was better to let him think I was dead. At least that way, there would be no questions—and no regrets."

She eyed him keenly. "Enough. My past is not what we came to discuss."

"No, you're right. Garmond said you might have some information about Andrew."

For a moment, her face was unreadable as Tiger stiffened slightly. Newkirk, always observant, noticed.

"What is it?" His voice was raspy and gentle.

Tiger shook her head. "It's alright, never mind. Yes, I do have some information. I have a connection who has seen him."

Newkirk went rigid. "Is he alright? Where is he?"

Tiger put her hand on his arm. "He is alive. But we must figure out what to do…he has been captured. He is in Camp 208."

"What? How? We have to get him out!"

"It's more complicated than you realize. According to my contact, Andrew had been made the senior officer in the camp. The commander has placed all of the prisoners lives on his head if he should try to escape."

Newkirk knew better than to ask who her connection was, but he was concerned about the accuracy of the information. "Are you sure you can trust your contact?

Tiger nodded emphatically. "I would trust him with my life, as he trusts me."

He needed to be sure. "What is his connection to the camp?"

Tiger sighed wearily. "He is my son, and he is a prisoner there."

Peter nearly fell over. "Your son?"

She sighed sadly. "Yes. He was captured about six months ago. It was never supposed to happen. He had only gone to meet another contact near the prison, and in much the same manner as Andrew was caught, so was my son. That is why I know there is something wrong. My son is not actually military. It is a cover. He—" Here she smiled slightly. "He joined the family business, you might say. He is a very skilled spy for one who is so young."

"I never knew you even had a son. How old is he?"

"Anton is twenty."

She saw the flash in his eyes as he made the connection. Sternly. she stared at him, not allowing him to break eye contact. "You must never tell him. He has moved on. We have done very well. I don't want to hurt Robbie any more than I already have."

Lighting a cigarette, Newkirk leaned against the wall and regarded her carefully. "So, tell me, does he look like his father?"

"Actually, yes. He has my hair, and Robbie's eyes. But he does look very much like his father. He acts like him, too."

He examined the burning end of his cigarette. "Does he know who his father is?"

"Yes. I have never lied to him. I told him that his father is married and lives in America. I also told him that it's not his father's fault that he has never met him, because I never told him. He has seen the photo."

"And Anton has never wanted to meet the guv?"

"Perhaps, but he knows I would never allow it. I don't want Robbie to feel obligated, or to be hurt."

"You are as bad as he is. You were both fools." Newkirk held up a hand as she started to protest. "You both know you were made for each other. Besides, things have changed. Marilyn died over six months ago."

Tiger gasped. "What?"

"Yeah, and he never got over you. He loved Marilyn, and she knew that. She also knew he had lost his first love. It was something that was always between them…a piece of his past that hung over him like a shadow. She accepted it, and learned to live with, same as he did."

Tiger sank to the floor, trying to take it all in. She drew her knees up in front of her and wrapped her arms around them. She looked up at him, helplessly. "Oh, Peter, what do I do now?"

Peter smiled gently. "Now? We figure a way to spring Andrew without getting everyone else killed. Failing that, I suppose we'll just have to spring the whole damned camp. The guv would kill me if I let his son die before he has a chance to meet him."

Numbly, Tiger nodded.

Peter pulled her to her feet. "I need to contact the guv. He needs to know what's happening. Can you send a message to Anton?"

Pushing down her emotions, Tiger nodded again, more firmly. "Yes, I'm sure I can. In fact, there is a safehouse near the camp. Perhaps we should try to get there."

Peter considered. "That might work, but let me contact the guv first. I'll bring him up to speed, and see how he wants to handle it. I was planning on contacting him tonight, anyway. Let's plan to meet here again tomorrow night. Can you do that?"

She nodded. "Yes. I will meet you here about 2100."

"That sounds good." He briefly touched her cheek again. "He paid for it, you know. He paid for all of it."

Tiger gazed at him, knowing he meant Hess. "I know, my friend. I know."

She turned to leave. "Thank you, Peter. Au revoir.

"G'bye."

~HH~

Later, when Peter was able to put in a trunk call, he filled Hogan in on all he had learned, except the identity of Tiger's contact. That would be up to Tiger to tell him…or not. It took a few minutes for Hogan to get over the shock of the news that Tiger was alive. The two men agreed that it was time to step up their efforts, and travel to the safehouse near the camp. What he did not tell Hogan was that he was sure Tiger would never agree to allow anyone else to guide them there. The two former lovers would be meeting very soon.

~TBC~

A/N: *Friedrich Hess is entirely a fictional character.


	14. Changes

**1 June 1944**

"There's a message from London, sir."

Hogan nodded. "Thanks, Kinch." Hogan flinched as he stared for a moment at the young sergeant holding out a slip of paper. "Sorry, Baker."

The other man nodded. "It's alright, colonel. I get it. It'll take a while."

Hogan nodded. "Yeah. It will." He read the message and frowned. "Package arrived safely. What package? We didn't send anything or anyone to London."

Baker shrugged. "I don't know, sir. Maybe there was a mix-up. It wouldn't be the first time they got their wires crossed. I'll double-check the message if you like."

Hogan nodded. "That's fine, just make sure they know it wasn't us."

Neither man saw Carter lean back in his bunk and close his eyes for just a moment. Nor did they notice the look of relief that crossed his face.

But someone in the barracks did. And the Watcher again wondered… _He was going to have to say something soon. He knew something was up. But who could he trust?_

 **~HH~**

Hogan had heard the rumors. He had gotten the messages. He realized there was a major Allied offensive coming down very soon. In fact, it would have already happened if lousy weather hadn't delayed things for so long. * Their help would be needed. And his team was in shambles. It was up to him to fix it. The problem was, he wasn't sure there was anything left to fix. In the three days since the memorial service, none of his core team had said a word unless it was absolutely necessary. Newkirk had silently retreated to his bunk, and practically snarled at anyone who came near him. Carter hid in his lab most of the time, and Hogan was unsure he was eating or sleeping at all. LeBeau simply went about his duties, cooking and serving their scant meals efficiently and woodenly.

Hogan sat at his desk, sketching and thinking. Baker had stepped up to the plate admirably. Kinch had trained his back-up radio man well, and he was handling the influx of messages from London with ease. Perhaps it would have been easier if he were struggling with the task. Kinch had been irreplaceable in so many ways, and yet, Baker was a superb radioman. And, he was genuinely a likable guy.

The young sergeant had identified with Kinch in many ways, not the least of which they were both black, and both shared a love of jazz and blues. Baker was not an outgoing young man, and seemed to have placed high expectations on himself. His personality was like Kinch's in that he stayed calm in a crisis, and was more apt to be a voice of reason.

In other words, he fit into the team nearly seamlessly, other than the fact that he lacked Kinch's leadership abilities. And Hogan was left without an SIC. Hogan did not want another SIC. He wanted Kinch. As Hogan sat as his desk and reflected on all of this, he sighed deeply. _Grow up, Rob. Accept it. Get over it. Move on…Yeah, right! Easier said than done._

Hogan put the finishing touches on the sketch he had done, and coated the finished sketch with a layer of hairspray, to fix the charcoal to the paper. He made a mental note to ask Hilda to get him another can. He was running low, and hairspray could be difficult to come by; not to mention that it was against the rules for prisoners to possess it, since it was flammable. Hogan had made it a policy for most of his life to bend or break any rules placed before him, which had not endeared him to his strict military father growing up. He had weathered his share of scrapes as a young man…but had found a way to turn his rebellious tendencies into assets as a volunteer in the RAF.

He pinned the drawing to the wall behind his desk and studied it carefully. He had taken special pains to get it exactly right. It was a head-shot…a portrait. And as he put his art supplies away, Kinch's warm and serious expression, one Hogan had seen a thousand times before, observed him from the portrait.

Hogan was startled by angry shouts and loud banging from the main room. Carter shouted, "What the hell was that for?" followed within seconds by, "Get offa me, ya bloody twister!" He recognized Newkirk's outraged tones. He plunged through the door just in time to see Carter, bleeding from his mouth, flip Newkirk over his back, and throw him hard enough to the floor to knock the wind out of him. What scared Hogan were the deadly serious expressions on the faces of both of his men. The two men were out for blood, and nothing was going to stop them. The other men in the barracks, not realizing the seriousness of the situation, began shouting encouragement to the two combatants.

Taffy was attempting to get close enough to intervene when a roundhouse kick from Carter sent him flying across the room. At the same time, Newkirk roared, "Stay outta this, Sky Pilot!" Taffy folded from the force of the kick, and lay still. Olsen and Foster ran to check on him. Newkirk pounced on Carter and began pounding him with a frenzy of punches. For a moment, it looked as if Carter would go down for the count, when suddenly he seemed to rally. He grappled with Newkirk for a few moments and then managed to pull his knees up under him and use his legs to throw him off. LeBeau shouted in indignation when Newkirk rolled into the stove hard enough to shake it. "Be careful, you clods! That is the only stove we have!"

Hogan took advantage of the momentary lull in the action to shout, "Alright, knock it off!" The two men stood, both weaving on their feet. They turned to glare at him, neither one giving an inch. Hogan glared right back. "What started this?" Both men remained stubbornly mute. Hogan rolled his eyes and turned to the others. "Anybody?" He was met with dead silence. He nodded. "Okay, fine. In that case, Newkirk...sit down and shut your trap. Do not move!" His voice dropped so low it was almost a whisper, and he spoke through clenched teeth. "Carter, my office…right now." Carter glowered, but wisely said nothing as he shuffled into Hogan's office and waited for his commanding officer.

Hogan turned towards Taffy, who was now sitting up. "You want to press charges against Carter? You are an officer, you know."

Taffy shook his head, even as he worked at catching his breath. "No, sir. But I _will_ be wantin' a rematch."

Hogan nodded, "I figured as much. Are you sure you're okay?" Taffy nodded, though he winced when Foster poked him in the ribcage. Hogan switched his gaze to the assistant medic. "Does he need Wilson?"

Foster considered. "I don't think so. I can't feel any cracks or breaks." He turned and glanced towards the table. Newkirk was now sitting awkwardly on the bench, clutching his left arm against his side. He was also sporting a bruise that was quickly spreading clear across his face. "Of course, I don't know about either one of our centurions. It looks like they really managed to mess each other up."

Hogan told Newkirk, "Let Foster check you over." As the protest flared up in Newkirk's eyes, Hogan continued, "That's an order, corporal."

To Olsen he said, "If Foster decides he's needed, get Wilson. Foster, I'll have you check Carter out next." Foster nodded as he headed towards Newkirk. The Englander growled under his breath, but one look at Hogan's face convinced him to keep quiet and cooperate.

 **~HH~**

In the meantime, Carter had taken a seat in Hogan's office. Before the earthquake, he had had only his desk chair. Once the new barracks were built, the men had scrounged furniture for Hogan's quarters and Carter had repaired an extra chair for him. This is where Carter now sat, and his eyes wandered across the sketches on the wall behind the desk. He studied the one of Kinch. Carter realized it must have been what Hogan was working on just before the fight, because it was dated that day.

He shook his head sadly. _Damnit, buddy! Why the hell did you have to come in just then? Why couldn't you have waited just a few more minutes?_

He leaned back in the chair and winced. He knew he was in for some epic bruises, and maybe worse. The adrenaline rush had worn off, and he was exhausted and beginning to really hurt. _Say what you liked about Newkirk, that boy could fight!_

The door opened and Hogan stepped in. He shut the door and looked his youngest team member directly in the eye. "Okay, Carter, spill."

 **~TBC~**

 **A/N:** *This is historical fact. D-Day had been planned for a long time, but the actual invasion was repeatedly delayed by stormy weather.


	15. Plans

May 1964

Anton was sweating as he made his way stealthily back into camp. It had been a long, hot walk, even though it was not yet dawn. The fact that he had been doing things like this for most of his young life helped him now. He made his way under the wire at the back of the camp. He had met with one of his contacts, who had delivered a message to him. The message was coded, and the codebook was hidden inside the barracks, so he had no idea yet what it said. He thought about recent events. He had never expected one of Papa Bear's team to be captured and put into the camp. He had been captured in much the same way, which led him to believe that there had to be a traitor somewhere in the underground.

So far, he had not figured out who it was, but he had narrowed down his suspects. Fortunately, the man he had met tonight was not one of them. He knew this, because the man was a close associate of his mother's and had been in place in Southeast Asia for many years. He was the owner of a small safehouse not too from the camp. And his cover was perfect. No one ever suspected the preacher who ran the small orphanage would be involved in espionage…and Taffy Matthews _was_ involved…up to his ears.

Anton knew he and Major Carter would need to talk. Taffy had told him that his mother planned to come to the safehouse, along with a couple of other agents. Of course, no details were given to him. None ever were. It was how Matthews had protected him and his mother all this time. The less anyone knew, the better. Anton now faced the daunting task of getting the major out of camp and to the safehouse without anyone realizing he was gone. He only hoped Carter was as good as what his mother had said he was.

His mother never talked much about the war, other than to tell him stories about some of her friends' more daring exploits, though she rarely ever mentioned his father. She had no idea he had figured out who his father was, but he was not blind. He had seen his father nearly every day of his life…every time he looked in the mirror. And he wondered what Robert Hogan would think of him, if he knew. He checked for the guards, and climbed under his barracks. He rapped quietly, and the trapdoor in the floor was pulled quickly aside.

~HH~

Andrew Carter was sitting quietly on his mat. He was tired, and he was worried. He had been awake all night. He and Anton had managed a short private conversation, during which Anton revealed that he was indeed Papa Bear's inside contact. He also showed Andrew the trapdoor that was hidden by the pile of sleeping mats stored in one corner. The existence of the door bolstered Carter's hope that he would be able to salvage his mission, and still figure out an escape.

Anton had told him of his intended mission outside the fence. Andrew agreed to cover for him, should it become necessary. And then, just after midnight, Anton had left the barracks. It was now nearly dawn, and he had not yet returned. Roll call was only about an hour away. Andrew was mentally putting the finishing touches on his cover story when he heard the tapping on the trapdoor. Two of the other men pulled open the door. Andrew had never been so happy to see anyone in his life. Anton grinned as he wormed his way through the narrow opening.

"Lucy, I'm home!" he cracked in an abominable Spanish accent. His comment made Andrew roll his eyes, and everyone around them smiled. All the men moved away, sensing their need for privacy.

The two spoke in low tones as Andrew looked at him carefully. "Did you get what you went after?"

Anton grinned. "Oh, yes…in fact, here it is." He pulled the message out of his boot, and rummaged through a small sack he produced from its hiding place behind a board in the wall. Carter was impressed with the hiding place, because, although he was an expert, he had missed the compartment all together. Although, he was willing to concede the lack of light in the room. It was only just now light enough for them to see anything beyond dim shadows. Lights were a luxury the enemy apparently felt no need to provide. That was an issue Carter intended to address with the commander, along with several other problems he had seen. The Geneva Convention was still in effect, regardless of the commander's interpretation of its rules.

Anton handed Andrew a small book. Carter instantly recognized it as a current operational codebook. He should recognize it…he had written it! Together, he and Anton quickly transcribed the message. Once he had read it, Andrew sat back, deep in thought. If the message was accurate, then things were even more complicated than he had thought. And he would be reuniting with his team-mates very soon.

Carter looked at Anton. "According to this, you and I are supposed to meet with the rest of the team at the safehouse in four days. We need to figure out how both of us are going to get out of camp for the meeting and stay under the radar."

Anton nodded. "It's a long hike to the safehouse. I wish we could commandeer a jeep."

Andrew looked at Anton for a long moment. "That's not a bad idea. Let me think about it."

~HH~

The commander of the camp was having a very bad day. Things were not going well in his little corner of the world. Fighting in the nearby jungle had increased, and it would only get worse before it got better. Supply lines were constantly being disrupted, and food was growing increasingly scarce. He had cut the prisoner's rations by 50% and had even cut back slightly on his men's rations, but he knew they would not be able to hold on if something didn't change very soon.

Idly, the commander tapped the end of his pen on the desk. It was a habit that he knew annoyed those around him, but he did not really care. It helped him to think. Besides, the only other man in the office was his aide, Lt. Kim, and he knew better than to say anything.

After an hour or so of silent contemplation, inspiration struck. He called his aide into his office. "What I am about to tell you remains our secret. Do you understand?" The aide nervously agreed. He hated being taken into his superior's confidence, because often, the "secrets" the man told him were nothing more than mad ramblings. Not this time.

After the commander had outlined his plan, he dismissed the aide without another thought. He now had a plan in place to deal with the overcrowded conditions in the prison, and he was rather proud of himself for thinking of it. It was a very bold step, indeed, but he was sure he was right. He was always right.

Lt. Kim, was appalled by the plan. He walked back to his quarters, his mind reeling. The plan was horrendous, though he knew that if the orders were given, he would have no choice but to obey. His family's lives were at stake, as well as his own. He remembered the fate of the last man to hold his post. His was not only a thankless job, but one with a very short life expectancy. These thoughts haunted him as he prepared his small meal. _Execute all the prisoners?_ _In two week's time?_

~TBC~


	16. Suspicion

**1 June 1944**

Carter returned the Colonel's stare. "It was nothing, sir. Just a disagreement."

Hogan shook his head. His voice betrayed his irritation. "Bull. Try again."

Andrew sighed and debated what to tell Hogan. He finally opted for as much of the truth as he could. "He's angry with me because he doesn't like the way I reacted the other night before the mission. He still thinks I don't give a damn about losing Kinch. And that's just not true."

Hogan softened a bit as he handed Carter some tissues. Andrew gingerly wiped the blood from his nose. "Of course, it's not true, Carter. But you have to admit, your reaction was kind of cold."

Carter stared down at his feet. The colonel was right, and he knew it. He also realized there was no way he could hope to explain why he had reacted as he had. He had to think of something, because Newkirk was his best friend, and he couldn't bear to lose him, too.

Hogan thought he might have a partial solution. "Look, there is something big coming down the pike. The situation in France is heating up. There is going to be a major operation staged there very soon. And when it happens, we all have to be on our toes. The Allies are going to need all of us at our best. Right now, I doubt we could help a dying kitten.

"Now, I need someone to get some vital information from an underground agent tonight. I want you and Newkirk to go out. Maybe by working together, you can resolve your differences. It will also get both of you out of camp. The change of scenery might do you both some good."

"I doubt Newkirk will go for it, sir. Besides, I think I may have messed up his shoulder."

Hogan noticed Carter made no excuses or apologies for what had happened. He only hoped he wasn't making a mistake. The two men were best friends, and Hogan really needed for them to get back onto an even keel. Dissention in the ranks right before a major offensive was no way to run the operation. _And he would not have the operation jeopardized. Not because of this. No way._

Hogan replied, "Foster is checking him over right now. Then, you're next."

Carter got no further with Hogan on that score than had Newkirk. In fact, Hogan's stern glare was enough to make the young man nod, although his eyes were mutinous.

 **~HH~**

Foster checked Newkirk over carefully. He shook his head at the bruise on Peter's face. "He nailed you a good one, didn't he?"

Newkirk said nothing, simply staring off into space as Foster continued his exam. That is, until Foster touched Peter's left arm. He sucked in his breath as Foster gently maneuvered the arm slightly. Grimly, he noted, "You've a dislocated shoulder. You're lucky it's not broken. Wilson will have to handle this. I don't have enough experience."

Immediately, Olsen disappeared down the tunnel underneath the sink. He reappeared a short time later with the camp medic in tow. Sgt. Joe Wilson was less than thrilled by the sight that greeted him. He hated dealing with the Englishman. Even at his best, Newkirk was never known for being patient, or cooperative. Olsen had filled Wilson in on the fight, and on Foster's findings. With no preamble at all, Wilson checked over the injured man quickly and nodded. "Dislocated. Again. What, are you and Carter in a race to see who gets the most injuries around here?"

"It wasn't my fault." Newkirk growled.

Wilson was giving no quarter. He hated dealing with any injury, but most especially the completely unnecessary ones. "No? Not what I heard. Are you ready?"

Newkirk gritted his teeth and nodded. Wilson grasped Newkirk's arm, and pulled hard, manipulating the shoulder back into joint. Peter gasped, his face white with pain. He did not cry out, although it took all his willpower not to.

Wilson checked over the arm, as Newkirk gingerly began to work the sore joint. "You should be fine. It will be sore for a few days, but you already know that." He looked at the livid bruises forming on his torso. "As for everything else, you'll heal. I don't think anything is broken." He prodded his patient here and there as he spoke. Newkirk grunted noncommittally and pulled his undershirt back on.

Hogan and Carter stepped into the main room just then. Wilson caught sight of Andrew's face, and beckoned him over to the table. His eyebrows raised, he checked Andrew's nose. "Well, it's not broken. How you managed that, I don't know. Take off your shirt." Quietly, the young sergeant obeyed. From long experience, he knew better than to cross Wilson. He still remembered the last time he had tried it. Wilson had made his point in a very memorable way. * Besides, Wilson was still officially the Medical Officer for the camp, and because of that designation, outranked just about everyone. Even Hogan had learned not to mess with him.

Wilson examined his patient quickly and expertly. "A lot of bruises; no surprise there. You have a pretty good knot on your head, but no concussion. I would say you're gonna live, but you may not like it when you wake up in the morning." He looked over at Newkirk. "You too." He grunted in exasperation. "And I figure you both deserve it." He switched his gaze over to Taffy. "Matthews, you all right?"

Taffy nodded, but winced as he shifted on his bunk. "Foster checked me over. He said I'll be okay."

Wilson nodded and threw a pointed look at the two men at the table. "Okay, but if any of you geniuses need me, you know where I am." With that, he headed to the trapdoor under the sink, and back to Barracks Five.

 **~HH~**

Things settled down quickly, and Hogan called both Newkirk and Carter into his office, and briefed them on their mission. As he had expected, Newkirk was willing to go, but unhappy with Hogan's choice of partners. Hogan quelled his protests with a simple "This is the way it is. Deal with it."

The two men left the room in silence and went about preparing for their mission outside the fence. Fortunately, the underground agent would not question their bruises, as they would be meeting him in the dead of night at a pre-arranged spot in the woods. The fact that it would be lit only by moonlight would guard against any awkward questions.

 **~HH~**

The Watcher sat back during all this, and though he was physically occupied, his mind was busy mulling over what he knew, and measuring it against recent events. He was developing a horrible suspicion, and if he was right, the whole operation, and everyone involved could be in terrible danger. He was sure Carter was involved in Kinch's death somehow. It didn't seem possible, but he supposed anyone could become a traitor. Was it possible Carter was both a traitor _and_ a murderer?

He decided that he would have to talk to Col. Hogan. Tonight.

 **~TBC~**

 **A/N:** * See "Earthquake, Ch 21


	17. Plots

May 1964

Andrew was surprised the next day when Lt. Kim strode into their barracks. The aide usually left dealing with the prisoners to the guards. In fact, they rarely saw him out and around the compound. He was either inside the office or in his quarters.

What surprised him even more was the immediate change in Kim's behavior once he was inside and the door was shut. The man was obviously terrified.

"Major Carter, I must speak with you!"

"Okay, come over and sit down. What is it?" He guided Kim to join him on his mat. Normally, the guard would have bristled at the very thought, but this time, he sank down gratefully. Andrew raised an eyebrow as Anton handed Kim a cup of hot tea. He would ask him later where he had gotten it. After a few moments, Kim finally began to speak. His English was quite good, though heavily accented.

"I had to come to see you. I am sure I will be shot for what I am about to say, but I cannot allow the commander to do it!"

Andrew was confused. "Do what, Lieutenant?"

"You must realize he is insane. He cares nothing for rules or regulations. The Geneva Convention means nothing to him. He has decreed that all prisoners are to be executed in two weeks!"

Carter narrowed his eyes. He was not entirely surprised. The man was certainly unstable, and Carter had no doubt at all he would carry out his threat.

He looked at the other man. "Does he know you're here?"

"No. He is in his office meditating. He will be there for another hour, unless someone disturbs him."

Andrew nodded. "Good. You want to stop him as much as we do. Would you be willing to help us?"

Kim hesitated. "If I am discovered, my family will die." Andrew nodded grimly.

Anton spoke up. "If he kills all the prisoners, you would be a witness. You and your family will be killed, anyway."

Kim nodded, his eyes resigned. "What you say is true. Yes, I will help you. What can I do?"

Andrew smiled gently. "Thank you, Kim. Do you ever have access to a jeep?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I need to make a trip to pick up some supplies for the commander. He is nearly out of tea." He smiled at the cup in his hand. "It keeps disappearing."

Carter looked up at Anton and quirked an eyebrow. Anton merely grinned, and mouthed the word "Later." Andrew rolled his eyes. _This should be interesting…_

Andrew looked back at Kim. "Here is what I want you to do…"

~HH~

Taffy Matthews was preparing his small living quarters for visitors. He had mixed feelings about the coming meeting. He would be happy to see his friends again, of course, but he was not happy with the amount of danger their presence represented. He had been quietly investigating the fact that there was a traitor in their midst, and he had finally gotten concrete evidence. He knew who the traitor was. He just had to figure out a way to trap the man before he could do any more damage. The fact that the traitor was an American made it especially hard to bear.

Most particularly, he had to ensure Tiger didn't get her hands on the man before he could be brought to justice.

Taffy was startled at the soft knock on his door. He checked through a crack and saw that it was one of the older orphans. He opened the door, and the boy slipped inside

"Phan, what is it?"

The boy leaned towards him, and whispered urgently. "I got a message for you. A man just slipped up to the back gate and said to give this to you. He left before I got a chance to say anything." He handed over a small slip of paper, and waited expectantly. Taffy smiled, and handed Phan a coin. Phan, one of the more enterprising of the orphans, grinned hugely. "Thank you!" He left as quickly as he had come. Taffy chuckled, thinking about Phan. .He had to keep a tight lid on the boy, to keep him from fleecing the other orphans. He was a born con-man and excellent thief. While these were not traits to be admired, they did come in very handy when it came to survival. Phan and Newkirk would likely get along very well, indeed, although Taffy suspected that Phan could out-fox the Englander at cards any day of the week…

Taffy looked at the message in his hand. He pulled his codebook from its hiding place behind the woodstove, and decoded it quickly. It was from Carter, and what it said horrified him. He realized he needed to act quickly to save the lives of every prisoner in the camp…yet he had no way of reaching the team, since there were in-transit. He sighed deeply, and made his way to his sleeping mat. He knelt down, and called on the One who had never failed him yet.

~TBC~

Hogan glowered at the stewardess. He hated overseas flights. He was impatient to get to his men, and this enforced idleness only made it worse. He and Newkirk were planning on meeting in Tokyo. He still found it hard to believe that Tiger was alive. He was sure it would not really sink in until he actually saw her again. Newkirk had told him about her scar, and though the thought of what she had been through angered him, the thought of the scar itself did not bother him. Marie Monet would always be the most beautiful woman he had ever known.

He thought about that for a moment. Even though he felt disloyal to Marilyn, he realized it was true. He had always loved Marie. And Marilyn had accepted that. That was not to say that he hadn't loved his wife. He had. But she had never wanted children. And Hogan could understand that, too. After all, no woman would want a child whose father had divided loyalties.

Hogan smiled sadly. He loved children. He always had. But he had respected Marilyn's wishes on the matter. And now, it was too late.

~TBC~


	18. Accusations

1 June 1944

Carter and Newkirk headed down to the tunnel a few minutes after lights out. Col. Hogan was waiting for them. He helped them with the last-minute details and instructions, but there was none of the usual bantering, and they left for their mission in strained silence.

Baker left his post at the radio and stood beside Hogan. "You think they'll be alright, sir?"

Hogan shook his head as he gazed at the escape ladder. "I don't know, Baker. This is starting to feel like a really bad idea. I've never seen them like this before. We'll just have to hope they work it out."

"Yes, sir." Baker turned and went back to the radio. Hogan watched him for a few moments, and then headed back to the barracks.

~HH~

Hogan decided to get some shut-eye. He knew the boys wouldn't be back for at least five hours, and it would do no good to sit up and fret. Surprisingly, he fell asleep nearly immediately. He was startled about four hours later when he heard a scratching sound on his window. He sat up and went to the window, confused. As soon as he realized who it was, he opened the window, and let his visitor in.

They spoke in low voices, aware of the sleeping men in the main room.

Hogan smiled. "Well, fancy meeting you here!"

He smiled. "Yes, sir."

"You need something?"

"We need to talk. Look, you've known me a long time. Longer than anyone else here."

Hogan was puzzled. "Yeah, so?"

"London put me here, same way as they did you. Even before you got here."

Hogan was getting a bit irritated. "You're not telling me anything I don't know. What?"

"So, you trust me, right?"

"Of course, I do! What the hell is this?"

"So, Colonel, you of all people, know things are not always what they appear."

Exasperated, Hogan finally lost it, and he hissed, "No kidding _, Lieutenant_! Now spill!"

The mention of his true rank, last referred to in an office in London, startled the Watcher into momentary silence.

Finally, he looked his commanding officer directly in the eye. His brown eyes were solemn. "I'm sorry, sir. I don't mean to play games. It's just that, well, I need to make sure that you will listen to me."

"I'm listening."

"I believe there is a traitor in our Barracks."

"What?"

"It's worse than that. He is not only a traitor, he may also be a murderer."

"What are you talking about?"

"I don't think Kinch died of a heart attack."

"What makes you think that?"

The Watcher took a deep breath. He knew this would be the hardest part for Papa Bear to believe…

~HH~

It was a cloudy night, and difficult to see. Fortunately, there seemed to be no patrols in their area, so they made it to the rendezvous with no physical difficulty. Their contact simply handed the information over to Newkirk after the exchange of countersigns and melted into the darkness. But it many ways, it was the hardest mission either of the two had ever been on. Because both felt as if they were traveling with an elephant on their backs. Carter was morose, remote and completely silent. Newkirk was stiff, sore, and unsure how to fix the chasm that suddenly existed between him and his best mate. Worse, he wasn't sure he wanted to. He couldn't understand how Carter could be so cold about Kinch's death. It made no sense at all. _Course, ya gave 'im no chance to explain, did ya?_ The thought had haunted him for hours. And still they plodded on in silence.

They were halfway back to camp when Newkirk heard rustling somewhere off to the left. He felt a rush of air right above his head and a tug on his cap just as he felt a crushing weight land full force on his back, and he heard the staccato bark of gunfire. Amidst the noise, he heard a grunt, and then the weight fell away. Cautiously, he sat up. And immediately got pulled back down by a furious Carter.

"You wanna get your head blown off, stupid?"

They lay quietly for another half-hour, until they were sure their unknown assailant had moved on. They figured they had run into a trigger-happy patrol that was not particularly dedicated. They had gotten lucky.

Newkirk huffed in irritation. He had realized his mistake immediately, but it didn't help to have Carter point it out. He reached for his watch cap, which had fallen off, and was surprised to see a small tear at the top.

Andrew cocked his head as he watched the shock register on Peter's face. Slowly, Newkirk looked into Carter's eyes. "You saved me life."

Andrew nodded. "Of course, I did. What did you expect?"

Shame flooded Peter. "I'm sorry, mate."

Andrew nodded "Me, too."

"We better get back before ol' Klink sends out the dogs." Peter reached out to clap Andrew on the back, and recoiled in horror when his hand came away smeared with blood. "Andrew, what the hell?!"

"What?" Andrew stared in surprise. He was as shocked as Newkirk. Since his accident* over a year-and-a-half ago he had healed very well, but he had severe scarring on his back and left arm, as well as nerve damage which left him without much feeling in the area. He had not even realized a stray bullet had grazed his shoulder blade.

"Ya could'a been killed, ya ruddy git!"

"I'm fine, Peter! It doesn't even hurt!"

"No, yer not fine, ya bloomin' idiot! Yer bleedin' like a stuck pig! We gotta get ya back an' have Wilson do somethin'! Now come on!"

The two quickly made their way to camp. Unfortunately, Newkirk was proved right when just short of the stump, Carter suddenly made a grab for Newkirk. "Uhh, Peter, I don't feel so good…" Newkirk whirled in time to catch Andrew just as he turned white as a sheet and passed out cold. Peter had a helluva time getting him to the stump. He managed it, and then Baker helped him get him down the ladder and to one of the cots.

Newkirk turned to Baker. "Go get Wilson!" Baker nodded, and sprinted down the tunnel.

Newkirk headed up the ladder to the barracks and straight to Hogan's office. He was so rattled, he totally forgot to knock. He burst in, just as Olsen, facing Hogan said, "I think Carter murdered him!"

~TBC~

A/N: * See "Demise of Daisy" for explanation of Carter's accident.


	19. Waiting

May 1964

Haneda Airport, Tokyo

Marie was nervous. She sat quietly, idly stirring her drink, unhappy with Newkirk's choice of meeting places. She understood it, but still…

Peter glanced over at her. "Sorry, love, but I figured it was better to stay as inconspicuous as possible."

She let her eyes roam around the crowded room. "Well, the second-floor cocktail lounge in an international airport is about as good as it gets. Though I am surprised there are so many people here,"

Newkirk shrugged. "Time zone differences. Somebody always ready for a drink. Plus, he knows where it's at. We've met here before."

Tiger raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. She knew he wouldn't elaborate, and she wouldn't expect him to. "Tell me about him."

He knew what she wanted, but, after the way she had hurt the Guv, he was in no mood to be charitable. She was his friend, but he was bringing them together only to rescue Andrew. He still couldn't forget that she had deceived Hogan…on so many levels. Plus, she had refused to help him unless she came along, as he had known she would.

His accent broadened, the way it always did when he was angry, or stressed. He took another large sip of his whisky. "Not much to tell. "'e thought you were dead. 'e settled for second-best. 'e worked hard, they made a good life. She died, an' it damn near killed 'im." He placed the empty shot glass back on the bar with a thump that made her wince. His green eyes glittered dangerously as he stared at her. "Anythin' else?" He signaled the bartender for a refill as he lit a cigarette. They lapsed into silence. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the tears track silently down her cheek, but he closed his eyes and his heart. He had to, didn't he?

~HH~

Camp 208

Andrew lay back on the thin woven mat. He scratched his chin through his thickening beard. It itched unmercifully and was hot. He had never particularly liked facial hair, and usually kept himself clean-shaven. Because of his Lakota heritage, he had never had to shave as often as the others at the Stalag, but as he had gotten older, his Norse heritage had kicked in, and he had been able to grow a mustache occasionally, when Hilda could talk him into it. He had been planning to get a haircut when he returned from this trip. Now that he had no access to a razor, he found his lengthening hair and beard were really beginning to bother him.

He looked at the scratches on the wall next to his mat, and was surprised. 23. He had been here for 23 days already. 3 days had gone by since Lt. Kim had warned them about the commander's threat. It would soon be time to put their plan into action. It would be very risky, but he saw no alternative. He and Anton had to get to the meeting at the safehouse. And the team had to come up with a rescue operation. He would not let the men in this camp die at the hands of a madman. Not while he could do anything about it. He looked up as the trapdoor raised. Lt. Fields pulled himself up into the room. Andrew beckoned him over to the mat. They kept their voices low.

"What's going on? Is everything ready?"

"Yes, sir. Lt. Kim got the jeep. Everythin's in place. You leave tomorrow mornin', right after roll call. Duffy got ahold of the stuff to put in his tea. It should knock him out for at least six hours. Kim will take care of that before he leaves. The beauty of it is, nobody goes into the Old Man's office when Lt. Kim is gone, so you should be safe. A couple of us will be keepin' watch, just in case."

As his second spoke, his accent came through, and Carter's heart ached a little.

Andrew smirked. "From what I've seen, the guards are as scared of the commander as the prisoners. They probably won't care if they don't hear a peep out of him for a while."

Fields nodded, but he looked troubled.

Carter frowned. "So, what is it?"

"Dunno, sir. Somethin' just doesn't feel right. Got no clue…but somethin's givin' me the collywobbles, sir."

Carter scrubbed at his face, and thought for a moment.

"We have to check it out. We can't let anything go wrong now. Are you positive you can trust Duffy?"

Fields nodded emphatically. "He's right as rain, sir. He's our courier, never given me a reason not to trust 'im."

"All right. See what you can find out, but be careful. We'll talk later."

Fields nodded, and slipped back through the trapdoor.

Anton dropped down next to Andrew. His expression was unreadable. Carter looked at the younger man. "Thoughts? You've been here longer than I have."

"Not sure. Maybe he'll come up with something. Meantime, everything's quiet."

"Good. Let's hope it stays that way."

~HH~

Haneda Airport, Tokyo

An hour later, they heard his flight announced. Tiger turned to Peter. "Are you sure we shouldn't go to the gate?"

Peter shook his head. "No. He travels light. Likely only has a duffel, probably didn't check it. He'll be here soon. Just wait. Besides, we need to be ready to leave as soon as he gets here. I've got a helicopter waiting for us. You did bring your gear, right?" He scuffed a foot against his own worn duffel bag.

"I did." She indicated the large tote she carried. "I'll need to change. I didn't want to attract attention."

Newkirk looked at her in amusement. Her short orange dress and matching heels looked smashing, and did nothing to aid her cause. Even more, she was totally unaware of the fact that a man would have to be dead not to notice her.

"You can change on the chopper. We need to go wheels up asap. Got a four-hour flight, then we leg it."

She rounded on him, rising out of her seat. "I will not! It will take me only ten minutes to change. You can wait that long, Mr. Newkirk!"

He too, stood up next to the bar. His eyes narrowed, and he shook a finger at her. "Fine. You can change in the hanger while we do the pre-flight. Five minutes. No more."

She was furious, but agreed. "Fine!" she spat.

"Good!" He huffed, his arms crossed.

From behind them, they heard a rich, delighted chuckle. "Glad to hear the kiddies playing so nicely together!"

~TBC~


	20. Setbacks

2 June 1944

Hogan and Olsen both whirled to face the door as Peter Newkirk basically fell through it. While he had adjusted well to his prosthetic leg, his struggle to get Carter back inside the camp had tested him to his limit, and he suddenly found himself collapsing into his commanding officer's arms. He gave no indication he had registered any of the discussion in the office, including Olsen's accusations.

Hogan eased him into his desk chair. "Newkirk, what happened?"

Peter took a moment to catch his breath. "It's Carter, sir. He's been shot. Baker went to get Wilson."

Before the words were even out of his mouth, Hogan and Olsen both had bolted out of the office, headed for the ladder. Newkirk rose to follow, but fell back into the chair, swearing loudly.

Foster peeked into Hogan's quarters. The assistant medic said nothing, guessing what the problem was. He raised his eyebrows, asking mute permission. Newkirk, resigned, nodded wearily. He swore under his breath, as Thomas came in, with his med kit in his hands and shut the door.

He gently rolled Newkirk's left pantleg up, and whistled softly. "Looks like you landed kinda hard, there. You dropped from the top of the hatch, didn't you?" He helped Peter remove his trousers and the leg.

"So?" Peter lit a cigarette and glared at Thomas.

"And then you ran down the tunnel and came flying up the ladder to get the colonel."

"Yeah."

"On a prosthetic that you threw out of alignment."

Peter snorted. "Well, I didn't break the thing. It's wood."

Foster smirked. "No, you didn't break the leg. But you could have broken your _knee_. You're lucky you didn't. As it is, you're gonna be badly bruised for a while. You won't be able to tolerate the leg for a couple of weeks." He wrapped a support bandage around the knee.

Newkirk frowned. "Why not? It's just a couple bruises."

Foster shook his head. "It's already starting to swell. You will be spectacularly black and blue by tomorrow morning. It'll be tender, and if you try to put the leg back on, you'll cause abrasions, which could get infected. Then you'd be in real trouble." He handed Newkirk his trousers.

Newkirk growled, "Fine. Me crutches are under me bunk. Go get 'em, willya? Got a spare safety pin, mate?"

Foster nodded, handed him a pin from his kit, and went to get the crutches. By the time he got back, Newkirk had gotten his trousers back on and pinned up temporarily. He glowered at the prosthetic, picked it up, and swung into the main room. He tossed it carelessly under his bunk. He headed straight for the bunk exit, and when Foster raised a hand to protest, he cut him off.

"Can it. Gotta get to me mate, don't I?"

He popped the latch, dropped the crutches, and hopped down the ladder with well-practiced ease.

~HH~

Wilson felt like smacking his young patient. "Will you hold still!"

Hogan stood watching silently as Joe stitched the furrow across Carter's shoulder closed. Carter, due to the fact he honestly couldn't feel much of what the medic was doing, was fidgeting, impatient to be up. Wilson was not about to let that happen. Not till he knew a lot more about what had happened.

"Where is Newkirk? I wanna talk to him."

Hogan frowned. "I dunno. He should have been right behind me." He looked around, the Brit's absence registering suddenly.

Wilson finally finished stitching the wound, and bandaged it. As he turned to put his supplies away, Andrew took this as his cue and moved to sit up. Joe pushed him back down immediately. "Stay!" he barked.

"Woof!" Carter responded sullenly.

Joe huffed at him in frustration, but couldn't help but chuckle. "Good boy!"

They all turned towards the tunnel as Newkirk swung into view…and therefore, the Brit was the only one who caught the quick bird Carter tossed at Wilson's back. Eyes widening, Newkirk nearly lost his balance. Explaining his sudden burst of laughter was totally impossible, especially when Carter crossed his eyes at him.

And then it seemed to register on all of them that Newkirk was on crutches. He explained what had happened, and immediately found himself on a cot, with Wilson examining him all over again. He concurred with Foster, and they were all relieved it was not as bad as it could have been. It was a setback, but he would recover, with a bit of rest, as long as he was careful. By the time Wilson was done with Newkirk, Carter was sitting up on his cot, watching his friend intently.

That was when Hogan remembered the conversation in his office. He glanced at Newkirk. He seemed to be in some physical pain, but there was no tension when he looked at Carter. He had not heard Olsen's accusations, obviously. And apparently, he and Carter had worked out their problems. Speaking of Olsen, he needed to continue their conversation as soon as possible. Olsen had disappeared as soon as Newkirk had come to the office. This was not unusual, and Hogan knew he would find a way for the two of them to meet again.

He took a few minutes to study Carter. What would make Danny accuse him like that? If Hogan were completely honest with himself, he knew there could be something to what Danny was saying…not that Carter was a traitor, or a murderer, but that there was a lot more to him than he let on. He already knew that Andrew was not as old as he claimed to be. He had finally admitted that he had lied about his age to get into the Army, but because of his skills, the Army had kept him. But now, Hogan wondered if there was more to it. One thing he had figured out a long time ago…his youngest team member was a lot smarter and a lot less innocent than he liked people to believe. He had a feeling they had all underestimated Carter badly. And that somehow, that suited Carter perfectly.

~HH~


	21. Betrayal

May 1964

Haneda Airport, Tokyo

Tiger whirled around at the familiar voice. Though she knew she would be seeing him, it didn't stop her heart from pounding as she gazed into the deep brown eyes of the man she had never stopped loving. She stood rooted to the spot, eyes wide, barely breathing.

Hogan dropped his duffel, laughed and gathered her into his arms. The years suddenly melted away as if they had never existed…she smiled up at him. For him, in that moment, there was no airport, no lounge, no mission. There was only Tiger…his Tiger, and he kissed her deeply. And she returned his kiss, recognizing the truth. They had both made mistakes…but they were being given a second chance.

"Hate ta break this up, folks, but we do have an appointment." Newkirk didn't sound all that sorry. Tiger glared at Peter, and Hogan turned to him, a little confused at the brittle tone. As usual, the Brit's eyes were hooded and unreadable. He lit another cigarette, jammed his lighter into his pocket, reached down, grabbed his duffel and silently swung it to his shoulder. He nodded to Hogan. "Good ta see ya. Got a chopper fueled an' waitin'." He turned on his heel and stalked down the walkway.

Hogan realized there was something much deeper going on with his friend than just a spat with Marie. But it would have to wait. They had a mission, and that came first. He sighed, picked up his duffel, took Marie by the hand, and hurried to catch up with Newkirk.

~HH~

Camp 208

No one was quite sure why it happened. Since when did a madman need a reason for anything he did? The men were huddled quietly on their mats. Andrew had advised them not to make waves. Suddenly, the bar on the door was pulled up and the door flew open. Two guards, waving their rifles all over the place, bulled their way into the dark room. Men scattered in every direction attempting to avoid their heavy boots.

They came directly towards Carter, and gestured with their rifles. One of them glowered at him malevolently. In broken English he shouted, "You come. Now."

When Carter did not move quickly enough, the two grabbed him and dragged him outside. Another guard dropped the bar back across the door before any of the men had a chance to protest. One of the men turned to Anton. "What the hell was that?"

Grimly, Anton shook his head. "I don't know, but we are in big trouble."

Although he wanted to go out the trapdoor in the worst way, he knew that could only end in disaster. If he were caught, he would be shot instantly. They would just have to wait and see what happened. He looked around at the others. "If any of you are the praying type, the Major could probably use a few."

It wasn't that he had never taken a beating. It was the unexpectedness of it. Usually, he had a chance to prepare. He was not a man who often got into fights, though when he did, he could definitely hold his own. He could defend himself. Quite well. Even now, very few of his friends would take him on, even in friendly wrestling matches…except for Taffy. Taffy was a totally different matter altogether…

Carter found his mind wandering as the commanders' voice droned on and on. He had been interrogated or tortured before…plenty of times. He knew the best way to handle it was just to dissociate himself from the situation. So, he decided to build a bomb. A nice, big remote detonator bomb. He wasn't sure what he'd do with it when he was done, but that was beside the point. _He picked up his wire cutters and reached for a spool of det cord…_

Three hours later, the commander was completely frustrated. His informant had told him the American major had vital information, but he had not been able to ferret out even one word. The man had barely made a sound. Either he knew nothing, or he had put himself in some sort of trance, which was possible. He held up a weary hand, and went to stare into the American's eyes. What he saw there, or more precisely, did not see, pleased him. The man's eyes were completely vacant. He was…broken.

"Throw him back into the barracks. I will deal with him later. Bring Corporal Duffy to me."

Lt. Kim, his heart breaking for the major, hurried to obey, wondering what the commander could want with the young American corporal.

The bar lifted again, and the two guards tossed Carter into the room. Anton took one look and turned to Mitchell. "Use the trapdoor, but be damned careful. Go get Doc D. The major needs him right now!"

Mitchell nodded and scooted out the trapdoor. Doc D was the ad hoc doctor for the camp. He was a young medic named Roy DeSoto, who had been captured the previous September.

Doc D kept mostly to himself when not helping out the other prisoners, but Anton had talked to him a few times. He was in the same barracks as Fields and Duffy. Anton liked the ginger-haired medic. He seemed solid and calm, and from what Anton could tell, he was handling captivity fairly well. There were men who didn't fare so well and cracked under the pressure quickly. DeSoto had people waiting for him back home, and in Anton's opinion, those men who had someone waiting for them always did better.

Ten agonizing minutes later, Mitchell and the medic pulled themselves up through the trapdoor. The first words out of Doc D's mouth, even before he crossed to Carter were, "I need more light."

Anton pulled out the three flashlights they owned and had Mitchell place two of them on either side of the major. He handed the other one to Doc, who handed it back as he crouched down next to Carter. "You hold it and point it where I say. What exactly happened? Mitchell and I couldn't talk Too risky."

Anton nodded. "From the looks of it, he got interrogated and didn't give them what they wanted."

Roy shook his head. He had seen too much of this in his short time in camp. He was keeping a mental journal, something he doubted he would ever share with Jo, but he was sure there were things he would never forget. He shook himself out of his thoughts to concentrate on the task at hand.

"Point the light as I check him over." He found bruises and abrasions on his body that were consistent with an interrogation, but no broken bones. Next, he had Anton point the light at the major's face. There were many livid bruises started, and dried blood around his nose and mouth. Roy bent closer to check his eyes. He was concerned about the possibility of concussion, although there was nothing he could do for the major if he did have one.

Roy touched Carter's left eyelid, intending to raise it.

 _Andrew had decided to bomb the commander's quarters and was just preparing to detonate it when a bright light flashed in his eyes. He barely had time to scream out a warning._

Carter's blue eyes flew wide open and he yelled "Duck!"

~TBC~

A/N: * Readers familiar with the 1970's television show "Emergency!" may recognize Roy DeSoto, the senior paramedic from that show. Canon has it that he was an Army medic in Vietnam. I am pleased to announce that my writing buddy xavionite and I are crossing worlds for the first time! My OC Taffy and Carter from this story will be visiting her story, and Roy from her story has gotten himself captured at Camp 208. Her story should be published in December.


	22. Conversations

**June 1944**

 **Stalag 13**

Kommandant Klink frowned as he looked over the prisoners the next morning at roll call. Corporal Newkirk was once more on crutches, wearing his specially tailored uniform trousers. He also wore an expression akin to a storm brewing in the distance, and Klink chose to address the issue later with Hogan. He dispensed with his normal morning speech and dismissed the men quickly. If the Englander was grateful, he did a wonderful job of hiding the fact.

Hogan was pretty sure he knew what was bothering his British corporal. He also knew he was absolutely unable to do a thing about it. To test his theory, he called Newkirk into his office.

"Have a seat, Newkirk."

Peter leaned back against the desk. "What can I do for ya, guv?"

"I want you to do a complete inventory and overhaul of all our uniforms and disguises. Louis can help you wherever you need it."

Newkirk frowned. "Yer sidelinin' me."

Hogan nodded. "That's about the size of it. At least for a couple of weeks. I don't want you outside the wire until your leg is healed."

"But, guv, it—"

Hogan held up a hand. "It's not that I don't trust you…I know you can get around just fine. It's just that I saw your leg when Wilson was checking you over. You bashed it up pretty good, and it needs time to heal. So, you're gonna give it that time."

Newkirk huffed in frustration but was silent. He knew an order when he heard one.

Hogan went on, "How long that takes is up to you. If you co-operate, and Wilson gives me the all-clear, you should be back outside the wire in a couple of weeks."

Peter nodded. "Yes sir."

As Newkirk rose to leave, Hogan handed him his crutches. "I am sorry, Peter. Have you heard anything from Leticia?"

For the first time, Peter smiled, his eyes full of warmth. "I did. Had a letter just last week. She's fine. Says the baby's due sometime in the middle of July!" His green eyes grew pensive. "I wish I could be there."

Hogan nodded. "I know. You know, I could still figure out something…"

Newkirk shook his head. "No sir. Thanks, but like I said before…we both know my place is here, until after the war. I know my girl an' the wee one'll be waitin' sir."

 **~HH~**

Hogan was not surprised that evening when he heard tapping on his window. He raised it and Danny Olsen slid inside, timing his entry so that the searchlight from the guard tower would miss him. Being the "Outside Man" for all these years had given Danny the uncanny ability to automatically time any searchlight pattern. He had not yet been caught by the guard's lights unless he chose to be.

He saluted the Colonel, which was a bit of a joke between them, since few of the men ever saluted Hogan. Hogan rolled his eyes and gestured for Danny to take a seat. Danny chose Carter's favorite spot—the top of Hogan's footlocker. They kept their voices down and resumed their conversation from the night before.

"Okay, Lieutenant, tell me. What makes you think Carter killed Kinch?"

"Well, you know a big part of what I am assigned to do is to watch everyone and everything that goes on. That's why I was placed here before you ever got here. To pave your way, basically."

"Yeah, Olsen, I know that. I helped set it up." Hogan was losing patience. It had been a helluva day, and it wasn't looking much better for the immediate future. He was two men down, and if they got a mission, he would be working with his second-string guys. They were good, but he preferred his core team, simply because they were used to each other's methods, and worked together like a well-oiled machine. Whenever you started messing with that balance, you were just asking for trouble. And trouble was the last thing any of them needed. "So, spill."

Olsen ran his hand through his thick black hair. "Anyway, Carter has been acting really weird for a long time."

Hogan quirked an eyebrow. "This is news? Carter is a bit on the eccentric side. You do realize that, right?"

"I'm not talking about his normal weirdness. This is different."

"I'm listening."

"I know that he has been using the radio for unauthorized transmissions."

Hogan frowned. "Was he talking to the Germans?"

Danny shook his head. "I'm not sure. But I do know had nothing to do with the operation…at least not that I could tell. Kinch caught him at it. And just a couple of days later, Kinch—one of the healthiest guys in this camp-dies of a heart attack."

Hogan nodded. "Yeah, I do see where something is off, but I still don't believe Carter would murder somebody in cold blood. And there is no way that kid is a traitor."

Gravely, Olsen looked him in the eye. "Are you absolutely willing to take that chance, sir? We both know what a fantastic actor he is. He could be a sleeper agent. He actually _could_ be a German spy." Olsen paused, knowing how hard it was for his commander and friend to hear what he was saying, but it had to be said. "Either way, we cannot afford to take that chance. I think, for the sake of the operation, you need to send him back to London…and let them figure it out."

Hogan leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin. "Yeah, you could be right."

 **~HH~**

Carter was puttering in his lab, late that night, right where Newkirk knew he would be. It seemed neither of them was sleeping very well. "Got a minute?"

Carter shrugged. "Sure. Hang on." He straightened a few things out and made sure to turn off the Bunsen burner under one of his experiments. He stepped out of the lab. "What's up?"

Newkirk sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't quite know how to say what I wanna ask, mate."

"Well, why don't we go someplace and just talk?"

Peter nodded. He allowed Carter to lead them down one of the unused tunnels that ended in a sort of a storage room. There was some old broken equipment and odds and ends scattered around. There were also a few old footlockers and crates here. They found seats on a couple of these.

Carter looked at his best friend. "Okay, shoot."

Peter just decided to go for it. "I know there are a lot of things you keep secret. There are things you've told me about, and things you haven't. I heard something the night you were shot, when I went to get the guv. Olsen was in his office and he seems to think you killed Kinch, and that you're a traitor."

Carter went very still, and his breathing slowed. Here it was. The moment he had known would come. The moment he had dreaded from the day he had met Peter Newkirk. A thousand thoughts ricocheted through his mind instantly, but the one that was most clear was that he refused to lose another friend. That was not going to happen, London be damned.

He met Peter's gaze directly with his own. "Peter, do _you_ think I killed him?"

Newkirk stared into the clear blue eyes of his best friend. Neither man spoke or moved for over a minute. Finally, Peter spoke firmly. "No, I don't."

"Do you believe I am a traitor?"

Peter shook his head, though he never broke eye contact with the American. "No, Andrew. I don't. I am not sure what else you are, or what else is going on, but I _know_ you did not kill Kinch. And I know damned well you are no traitor."

Carter nearly sagged with relief. "Thank you. I have to ask you something very hard, Peter."

Newkirk cocked his head. "What's that?"

Andrew smiled. "I have to ask you to trust me. One hundred percent. Without asking any questions. Because I can't explain _anything_. I promise I will someday. Just—not now. Not today."

Peter bit his lip as he thought of what his friend was asking. He shut his eyes, remembering all the times Andrew had trusted him implicitly…never once questioning their friendship. Never questioning _him_.

"When, Andrew? After the war?"

Carter nodded. "Yes. After the war, Peter. I promise you'll understand."

Peter smiled. _Good enough._ "Then come on mate, let's get back to it. We've work to do."

 **~TBC~**


	23. Medic

Camp 208

June 1964

Startled, Roy flew back and ended up flat on his butt. Everyone else in the hut wound up flat on their faces. When somebody in that part of the world yelled "duck," you did _not_ ask questions. You just ducked. When Roy finally got himself sorted out, he looked at the Major. He did not seem to be suffering from a major injury. He did, however, seem to be slightly dazed, and a bit sheepish.

Carter looked around. "Sorry guys. I was building a bomb." There were nods of understanding from several of the men. They had all been through interrogations before. Carter looked at the flashlight in Anton's hand. "I suppose you flashed that thing in my eyes, right?"

"Doc told me too." Anton was unwilling to take _all_ the blame. "And I suppose you thought it was your bomb detonating on you, right?"

Andrew nodded ruefully, then grinned. "Made for a helluva distraction, though." He looked around at the others, who by now had dusted themselves off. "Sorry fellas." He turned his attention to the medic, who was glaring balefully at him. Andrew stuck out his hand. "I don't believe we've met. "I'm Major Andrew J. Carter. Thanks for trying to help me out. You are?"

It suddenly hit Roy that he, a corporal, was glaring at a major. _Peachy, DeSoto. This guy could have you for breakfast!_ He straightened his posture as well as he could, considering he was still sitting on his butt in the dirt, and saluted quickly. "Corporal Royal C. DeSoto, sir." *

Carter returned the salute, but then chuckled. "At ease, corp. Relax. We aren't particularly worried about rank around here. So, you're a medic?"

"Yessir. The only one the prisoners have. They don't provide medical care, so we do the best we can." Carter nodded. Roy decided to press his advantage. "And if you don't mind my saying so sir, you look like they worked you over pretty good. I only got a preliminary look at you. Do you mind if I gave you a more thorough examination…just to make sure you really are okay?"

Carter raised an eyebrow. "And what will you do if I am not…okay?"

Roy smiled. "Not much, sir, but at least we would know what to expect, if you start to have problems. You see, that's one thing we medics hate…surprises. Especially when they concern our superior officers."

Carter laughed outright at that. "You sound just like another Army medic I once knew years ago."

"Oh?" In the absence of any protest, Roy began his examination.

"Yeah, he managed to keep an entire camp of POWs in Germany in reasonable health. Pulled most of us through with flying colors. Helluva guy."

"He sounds like it, sir. Where is he now?"

"He's a surgeon and senior instructor at Fort Tripler Army Hospital in Honolulu."

Roy's ears perked up at that. "Really? I took some of my training there. What's this surgeon's name?"

"Captain Joe Wilson. You ever hear of him?"

Now it was Roy's turn to grin. "Heard of him? I was never so glad to finish any training in my life! He made our lives hell!"

Andrew laughed. "Yeah, and I'd imagine you're the better medic for it, too."

Roy nodded. "You bet…sir."

They were quiet as Roy finished his assessment. He noticed the major allowed him to check him over only through his uniform. He scowled when Roy started to pull up one of the sleeves of his fatigues. Roy wisely backed off, but made a mental note. There was obviously something the major was hiding, though he didn't seem to be in any pain. He washed the worst of the cuts on his torso, happy he would not have to stitch any of them. He applied a couple of butterfly bandages to one of the deeper cuts on his cheekbone.

"I think you did sustain a minor concussion, sir. That might be why you took a little while to come around."

Carter's tone was dismissive. "Not the first one, likely not the last." He grinned when he noticed the puzzled frown on the medic's face. "I have played with explosives all my life, corporal. I build bombs for fun. Thanks again, Doc." He smirked as Roy's eyes went wide.

Carter beckoned to Anton. They kept their voices low as they watched the medic pack his small bag of supplies. "We have a lot to do between now and tomorrow morning. Do you think we can be ready?"

Mitchell came over to Roy. "Come on, you better get back before the guards miss you."

Roy nodded. Mitchell was right. He really did not want to miss a head count. It wouldn't go well for him, obviously, but it would also come down on Major Carter. He had been one of the prisoners herded out into the yard when the Major had been brought into camp. It was just after he had been put into a hut, after caring for the commander. Now he almost wished he had let the old man die…but he knew they would have killed him if he had. *

A few minutes later, he was back in his own hut. This was one of the times he wished he could talk to JoAnne. He missed her terribly. Instead, he laid down on his mat and let himself dream of being with her…wondering if she was thinking of him…wondering if she knew he was alright. Wondering if they had told her he was missing… _I'm sorry, Jo. I just wanted to help those kids. But I should never have risked it._ _Dr. Schwartz was right. I should have just minded my own business._ His satchel of black market medicine and chocolate was probably still in the jeep. He hadn't seen where any of his captors had found it. _My grand gesture came to exactly nothing…figures._ Eventually, sleep…and nightmares, claimed him.

~HH~

Haneda Airfield

As they entered the hangar. Newkirk silently hitched a thumb at a door at the back. Tiger flung him a glare and disappeared through it. Hogan started to ask a question, but the Brit had other things on his mind.

Newkirk looked at Hogan. "I have a pilot standing by if we need 'im but I figured you'd wanna fly her yourself." He indicated the UH-1 gunship that stood waiting. Hogan raised his eyebrow. "And where did you commandeer this baby?"

Newkirk grinned and ground out his cigarette. "What was that you allus told us, sir? 'Never ask a question you don't want answered'? Besides, you _are_ a General. I figured that counted for somethin'."

Hogan rolled his eyes and turned as Tiger came back over to them. She was now dressed in generic khaki fatigues. Newkirk never even looked her direction, but simply continued with his visual inspection of the Huey. "We'll be ready for take-off in about five." Hogan decided at that point he had had enough. The mission was important, but if he didn't get this situation resolved, the mission would be compromised before they ever left the ground.

He pointed to the dilapidated sofa and office chairs that graced the center of the hanger. "Okay kids. Sit."

Both Marie and Peter looked askance at him. He simply stared back arms folded. "Now!"

~TBC~

A/N: * The details of Roy's first coming to the camp will be revealed in one of xavionite's stories, of which it now looks like we will be collaborating on several… ** Roy's full name is never given in canon on "Emergency!". However, xavionite named him Royal Christopher DeSoto, (which I love!)


	24. Repercussions

June 1944

Hogan stared at the message in his hand. It was terse and to the point. London was calling him to a top-secret meeting and he was to bring Carter with him. They were to be at the airfield the following evening just after roll call and would be back by sun-up. There were no other details given.

On the one hand, perhaps the whole mess would be settled and life could get back to normal. At least neither one of them was being told to pack their bags. On the other hand, he had not expected such a quick or decisive reply to his inquiry about Olsen's suspicions. Usually, London would tell him they would look into the situation and get back to him.

He frowned at the message, willing it to reveal more, to no avail. Baker watched him, wondering if there was something more he could do. "Is there anything wrong, sir?"

"Hmm? Oh, no, sergeant. Thanks. I'll take care of this." Hogan wandered away from the radio, deep in thought. He went to find Carter to tell him to press his dress uniform.

~HH~

After receiving the message from the colonel, Carter's reaction was typical. "But I don't wanna go to London."

Newkirk pulled his flight cap off his head and smacked him with it. "Whaddya mean you don't wanna go to London, ya ruddy git? Who wouldn't want to go to London?"

"Well, I mean, not like this. This is sorta like getting called into the principal's office. Nobody likes that, right? London hardly ever has anything nice to say to Colonel Hogan when he goes there, do they?"

Newkirk thought about that. "Okay, that's true, but still…it's London, mate! Beats sitting around here!"

"Yeah, I guess so." Andrew was still dubious, but his sense of humor took over and he grinned. "Maybe I'll try to find you some tea and scones or something."

Newkirk smirked. "Yeah, mate. You do that. Now, come on. We gotta get you kitted out."

~HH~

Neither Hogan nor Carter talked much on the flight over to London. Unlike the colonel, Carter had a pretty good idea what the meeting was about. And he was not happy. Papa Bear was already one of the most wanted men in the Third Reich. Although Lone Wolf was not a well-known code name, his activities were vital and made him a huge target. Making Papa Bear aware of his existence would make them both so much more vulnerable than necessary. Carter shuddered to think what would happen if Bald Eagle were ever compromised as well.

He leaned back in his seat and let his mind drift. There were times he wished he were still back on the farm, with his family and his horses. The other men in the barracks often treated him like a child, but he had not been a kid in a very long time. He cultivated that kid persona because it suited his purposes, but it was just an act. He had seen things, and done things that would curl even Danny Olsen's toenails…

~HH~

Hogan watched through hooded lids as Carter drifted off to sleep. He wished he knew what was going on inside that kid's head. There was so much the boy kept hidden. And Hogan did not like secrets. Not when they concerned the operation. He also did not like going into meetings feeling as if he were the only one not knowing what was happening. As if he were being played. Well, all that was going to come to an end, because one way or another, he was going to get some answers. Carter, and London had a lot to answer for. In the meantime, there was no use fretting about something he couldn't do anything about. He followed his young sergeant's example and sat back and shut his eyes, deliberately shutting out his worries.

~HH~

London, Allied HQ

Hogan realized the meeting was going to be unusual when he and Carter were ushered into an empty conference room and left there for a full ten minutes. No aides, no amenities…nothing. Presently, the door opened, and a general he had never seen before stepped into the room. He was alone. That was also unusual. In Hogan's experience, most generals never went anywhere without an entourage.

The other unusual thing was that Carter obviously knew exactly who this man was. It took all of ten seconds for Hogan to figure out that he was in the presence of Carter's superior officer, and not his own. Both he and Carter stood and saluted, which the general returned. "At ease, men. Have a seat."

The general shook Hogan's hand. "I am General Jameson, and you would be Papa Bear. It's good to meet you. I am glad you have been taking good care of Lone Wolf here." He indicated Carter, whose hand he shook warmly. "Good to see you again, my boy."

Carter nodded, although his ears had turned a bit red. "Thank you sir. Good to see you, too, although this is sort of awkward."

The general nodded. "That it is, son, that it is."

Hogan realized his eyebrows had probably disappeared clear off his forehead. He had known there was more to Carter than the young man let on, but the way the general was talking… "Excuse me, general. 'Lone Wolf?'"

General Jameson nodded. "Technical Sergeant Carter is the only Indian code talker we have currently functioning inside an enemy base camp in Europe. There are others scattered throughout the Theatre, and even behind enemy lines, but none permanently stationed inside an enemy base. This makes him completely unique.

Are you familiar, Colonel, with the mission of the code talkers?"

Hogan nodded. "I am somewhat familiar with them. I know that they come from many different Nations and serve all over the various Theatres. I also know they have saved a lot of lives."

General Jameson nodded. "That is very true. They trained hard and serve in combat zones all over the world. Your Sgt. Carter spend a year-and-a-half in combat before he was assigned to Stalag 13."

Carter looked distinctly uncomfortable as shock registered on Hogan's face. There had, of course, been nothing in Carter's records about any of this. Andrew had only told him that he had lied about his age and that the Army had kept him because of his skills…but Hogan was completely unprepared for the truth.

He knew Andrew was only 19, and that he had been only 16 ½ when he had been captured and sent to Stalag 13. That fact had come to light after he had been trapped during the tunnel collapse after the earthquake the previous year. Now, Hogan did some quick math. And he was livid. He turned to Carter.

"Just exactly how old _were_ you when you joined the Army, Carter?"

Carter's chin came up. "I joined the day after my fifteenth birthday. Sir."

Hogan's eyes went wide. "And the Army _knew_ that?"

Carter shrugged. "That's how it was for a lot of us. We had something they need. I spent a short time in boot camp, which was a breeze, and some time in code talker's training. It took a lot less time for me, because I have an eidetic memory…or actually, I'm not sure what you call it. I remember everything I see and hear. Either way, I got through the training a lot faster than some of the others, so they put me out in the field pretty quickly. I got sent to Germany, and spent sixteen months in combat before I got captured."

Hogan shook his head. "But damnit, Carter, that's just not right! You were just a kid! You had no business being out there!"

General Jameson interrupted. "Actually, Carter did an exemplary job while in the field. He distinguished himself several times and saved a number of lives."

Hogan turned to glare at the man. "That is not what I meant. He. Was. Just. A. Kid."

Carter smiled sadly. "Thanks, colonel. But I stopped being a kid a long time before I ever stepped foot on that transport ship. I'm fine. Really, I am. Besides, we don't have much time before we have to get home, and I don't think my past is what we're here to discuss."

General Jameson nodded crisply. "Quite right. It is the future that concerns us now. Specifically, the future of both your operations. You must both realize that while you have been operating simultaneously yet independently of one another, that situation is no longer possible. The question before us now is, has either operation been compromised? Can each of you continue to function, knowing what you now know?

Obviously, Carter, in some ways, this will make your operation somewhat easier. Utmost secrecy will have to be maintained as far as anyone else in the camp is concerned. But you would at least not have to keep secrets from Colonel Hogan." He then turned to Hogan. "The onus would be on you to keep Carter's identity as Lone Wolf an absolute secret, even under threat of torture or interrogation. I have no doubt of your ability on that score. What concerns me is your ability to keep the facts from your other team members."

Hogan bristled at the implication. "Are you insinuating that I can't keep a secret?"

Jameson shook his head. "Not at all. As a matter of fact, I am referring to the idea that after a time, you may decide there is no need to keep the secret from your core team members. You trust them. And indeed, they are trustworthy. But you cannot trust them with this secret. For their sake as well as Carter's. If it had not been for Lt. Olsen's accusations, you would never have even been brought on board. I cannot emphasize enough the fact that no one else can ever know _. No one._ Sgt. Carter's report on the death of Sgt. Kinchloe was very clear. He reported the facts to me in the course of his duties. There was no foul play of any kind. You may report that fact to Olsen, and that Sgt. Carter has been cleared of any possibility of treason. If anything further comes of the matter from Olsen's quarter, I assure you, it will be dealt with in an expedient manner."

Although the words were said in a benign and neutral manner, the hairs on the back of Hogan's neck prickled uncomfortably. What bothered him even more is that when he slanted his eyes in Carter's direction, the young man did not seem surprised in the least. _My God, Andrew, who the hell are these people?_ Aloud Hogan said only, "I understand sir."

Jameson nodded and stood. "I was sure you would." The three men exchanged salutes and the general left them alone once again. Hogan turned to look at Carter, who sat back down in his chair, and stared off into space, studiously avoiding his gaze. Hogan wasn't exactly sure what to say, but he realized that all the rules of the game had just been radically changed. And he was not sure he was ready for the next round.

~TBC~


	25. The Stage is Set

June 1964

Paris, France

"But, Louis, you can't be serious! You cannot be involved in anything like this. I understand they're your friends, but this could _ruin_ you."

Louis LeBeau turned from where he had been gazing out the window watching the evening traffic to stare at his friend and long-time political advisor, the telegram still in his hand. "Michel, _this_ from you, who know me so well? These men are like brothers to me. You were not there. You cannot understand. They are in trouble. And I will not fail them, no matter the cost. Understand that. If you do not wish to be involved, so be it. I am going to help them. Walk away if you must," Passion vibrated from his every pore. "but whatever you do, Michel, do _not_ try to stop me."

And LeBeau walked to his desk and punched a button. His secretary's voice came over the intercom. "Oui, monsieur?"

"Giselle, come in here please. I know it is late, but I need to send some urgent messages. I also need to have you make some immediate arrangements. I need you to charter a hospital ship for me…an ocean liner preferably. I will also need helicopters. A fleet of them. Armed helicopters. I will give you all the details. _Merci_." He broke the connection in the middle of Giselle's startled gasp and turned back to face Michel, who stood staring at him.

"Louis, you are the Mayor for God's sake! Of Paris! Not like before…not just a little province full of vineyards! Paris! You have political enemies. If you mix into Southeast Asian politics right now, they will crucify you. This could destroy _everything_ we have worked for."

Louis stood staring at Michel impassively. He was silent for a moment. "In. Or. Out?"

~HH~

It took a bit of doing, but after Pete and Andy Carter had finally discovered what had happened to their father, they had both gotten leave from their respective academies. It helped that their father's boss was a general, and a bona fide war hero, and that their own father was no slouch himself. A trunk call to Jamie Newkirk in London found the three boys all bound for Paris a few days later. They were going to meet with another of their best friends, Yvette LeBeau. Perhaps if they all put their heads together, they could help bring Andrew Carter home.

Thus it was, that when Louis returned home on the evening his political advisor had walked out on him, he discovered eighteen-year old Yvette had received three visitors in his absence. The young people were currently installed in the courtyard, lounging in chairs and enjoying a bottle of his finest vintage. _His daughter always had known how to impress._ The boys stood immediately, nearly dropping their glasses in their haste. Louis nearly chuckled. _God help him, she looks like her mother_ … _Had he ever been that young? No,_ he realized sadly. _Probably not._

"Good evening, gentlemen. It is good to see you again. I assume you are not here strictly to sample my wine? What have your fathers been up to lately?"

~HH~

Haneda Airport, Tokyo

Hogan herded both Newkirk and Tiger over to the center of the hangar. He stood, keeping an eye on the chopper while the Brit lowered himself onto the edge of one of the chairs, and Tiger sank onto the sofa. Hogan stood in front of the two of them, with his arms crossed. He looked at each of them in turn.

"Okay, I have no clue what is going on between you two. But, I want the air cleared. We are going on an extremely dangerous mission and we have to be able to rely on each other 100%. Right now, I don't know that I can trust either one of you to look out for each other. Me, yes, each other, no. Whatever is eating you, let's get it out in the open. Before we get in the air." He looked at his watch. "That means you have about two minutes to start talking."

It took him less than ten seconds to realize that was not going to work. "Okay then. We'll do it this way. Marie, what is going on?"

"Ask him! All I did was ask him at the bar to tell me a little about you and he acted like a jerk! And he's been horrid ever since!"

He turned to Peter, who had patly ignored several posted "No Smoking" signs and was nearly halfway through another cigarette. "Well?"

"Yeah, she asked. An' I told her. See, I had got to thinkin'. I knew she was gonna want to pick up right where the two of you left off. An' I know you, Rob. You wear your heart on your sleeve. You allus have. An' I was there when you thought she was dead. _I_ was the one pulled you through it…" Peter stood suddenly and began pacing. He whirled on Hogan, and was suddenly right in his face. His voice was low, and somehow nearly dangerous, and yet, almost broken. "I…was…there. I saw what it did to you. Do you think I don't know why you chose Marilyn?"

Suddenly Hogan was the one in Newkirk's face. "Shut up, Peter! I loved her!"

And Peter suddenly backed down. "I know, guv. I know you did." His face was full of pain, and grief. "But you can't deny that you chose Marilyn because she looked _exactly_ like Marie." He turned and looked directly at Tiger for the first time in hours. "And beggin' your pardon, Tiger, but I cannot go through it again. I cannot watch you hurt 'im again. I wanted to drive you away. Because, God forgive me, I would rather he be alone, then hurt like you hurt 'im before." And with that, Peter Newkirk strode to the chopper, and continued his flight check.

~HH~

Camp 208, North Vietnam

 _Troop carrier. Tank at the very least. Possibly both_. Whatever had run over him, Andrew Carter really wished it hadn't. He sighed and turned painfully onto his side. _He was getting way too old for this._ _Note to self: The next time you see the colonel, ask for a raise._

He rolled to his feet. "Okay, fellas, we've got a lot to do today."

Anton was at his side almost immediately. "Mornin' boss. You look like you tangled with a lawnmower and lost. You okay?"

Carter "I'm fine. Did Duffy get the special tea into the commandant's office last night?"

Anton nodded. "Fields sent him in with it. Mission went off without a hitch. He was only in there for about five minutes. He was able to replace the contents of the whole tin."

"Good. Maybe we should take the good tea to Taffy. He could probably use it."

"What do you think will happen to Taffy and the orphans after we escape? The Viet Cong have left them alone for a long time. I'll bet they'll think they had something to do with all this."

Andrew ran his hand through his hair. "I'm an idiot! Of course, they will. They'll execute Taffy and conscript all those boys into the Viet Cong army, unless they decide to kill them outright." He shrugged. "Somehow, we'll just have to take them with us."

" _Take them with us?_ Major, has it escaped your notice that we don't even know how _we're_ getting out of here?"

Andrew sighed. "Anton, would it surprise you if I told you that this whole thing is shaping up an awful lot like one of Colonel Hogan's plans?"

~TBC~

A/N: You didn't think I was going to leave LeBeau out of the fun, now, did you? And if there is anything about his plan that stretches credibility, just attribute it to a bit of creative license on my part…and long-term exposure to Robert E. Hogan on his!


	26. Beginnings

June 1944

Allied HQ, London

James Kinchloe's hands were shaking as he removed the headphones. He stood and saluted as General Jameson entered the room. "At ease, sergeant. Be seated."

Kinch sank back into his seat. "Thank you, General. It was good to at least hear their voices again."

Jameson nodded. "I did want you to hear exactly how the situation is being handled. I'm sorry for all of this. I wish we could have left you in place. Frankly, we wracked our brains for any other solution. And we really did not want to bring Colonel Hogan into it, but there was no other choice."

Kinch nodded wryly. "Yeah, it would be a little hard to run Papa Bear's operation without Papa Bear."

"Exactly."

"So, what happens next?"

"You will be taken back to your billet. I must ask you to continue to stay as inconspicuous as possible. Go nowhere unless it is with your authorized escort. You will be given your new orders within the next few days."

"Yes, sir."

There was a soft knock and an aide stepped into the room after the general's acknowledgement. The aide handed the general a slip of paper and waited while he read it. General Jameson's eyebrow raised and he smiled. "Change of plans, Kinchloe. You will likely not make it back to your billet this evening."

Kinch frowned. "Sir?"

"Mrs. Leticia Newkirk has been admitted to the hospital. She is asking if you will come and stand in for her husband. She wishes he could be in the waiting room, but since that is not possible…"

Kinch grinned. "It would be my honor, sir!"

Leticia was one of the few people in London who knew Kinch was alive, and she had vowed to keep his secret. She understood that if she let it slip, the operation would be compromised beyond repair.

"You will be taken there immediately, and I will see that a message is sent back with Colonel Hogan for Corporal Newkirk."

"That will be quite a surprise. I had understood she isn't due for a couple of weeks yet."

The general smiled again. "I have four sons. Babies tend to come whenever they have a mind to, sergeant."

~HH~

An Airfield in London

They had just boarded the plane to return to Germany. They were starting their taxi run when suddenly the engines powered down, and the plane slowed to a stop. Hogan and Carter were both alarmed, especially after the meeting they had just attended. The pilot told them only that he had been instructed to wait where they were. Waiting was never one of Hogan's strong suits, and he bore it with ill grace, grumbling under his breath.

"I wonder what the problem is? Hopefully, some bozo doesn't decide to commandeer the plane!  
Don't they realize we've got roll call in just a few hours?"

Carter was also worried, but said nothing. He probably could not have gotten in a word edgewise, anyway, so he sat back and simply waited. In a few minutes, a jeep flew onto the runway, and a breathless Lt. Mills* jumped out and climbed up into the plane. The dark-haired young man grinned as he saluted and handed Hogan a message and a box. "With General Jameson's compliments, sir."

Hogan looked at him oddly. "I wouldn't think he would be handing out cigars after that meeting."

Mills grinned, his dark eyes dancing. "No sir. They're not for you. Read the message." And with that, Mills exchanged a parting salute with Hogan and climbed back out of the plane.

Hogan put the message in his pocket and stowed the cigars. Whatever was going on would have to wait until they got airborne, because take-offs were always a bit bumpy.

~HH~

St. Ann's Hospital

Kinch sat alone in the hallway of the hospital. He had been sitting there for hours. He still found himself looking around for German guards waiting to haul him back to the Stalag. Freedom, especially as unexpected as it had been, was taking a lot of getting used to. Of course, "freedom" was a relative term. His family had been told nothing. All his mail from them would be diverted to London HQ and delivered to him wherever he ended up. He was not allowed to share any information as to his whereabouts with anyone for the duration. And afterwards? Well, it would all be classified anyway. He did hope that he would at least be able to see his friends again, before he was shipped home after the war.

And he never went anywhere without an "escort." Read: someone to provide a diversion in case anyone thought they recognized him. So far, he had been lucky. There were only three people in London connected directly to Stalag 13 who knew he was alive…three members of the Underground, who had helped get him out of the camp. One was Newkirk's wife, one was his sister-in-law. It was the third one who had him worried. Because Peter would kill him if he had any idea that the third member of the Underground was his sister, Mavis.

A little while later, a nurse stepped out, smiling. "Mrs. Newkirk is asking for you."

~HH~

Over Germany

They were over halfway home when Hogan remembered the cigars. His curiosity piqued, he pulled the message out of his jacket pocket. "Papa Bear, tell your English corporal he will be needing these very soon. Details to follow once cub makes appearance. All is well. Regards."

Hogan grinned and passed the message over to Carter. If it had been possible, the young man would have been jumping up and down, but they had to stay strapped in, as the turbulence was heavy, and they were headed through more dangerous skies. "Oh, boy! Peter's gonna be surprised!"

Hogan rubbed his neck and stretched. "Yeah, I would say _that_ is probably a safe bet!"

~HH~

St. Ann's Hospital

Leticia smiled drowsily at her visitor. The nurse had brought the baby in from the nursery, and placed the energetic little bundle into her arms just moments before. Kinch was mesmerized.

"He…he's so small! Look at all that hair!"

She chuckled. "He is only a _little_ small. He will grow. And he looks like his daddy. Brown hair everywhere!"

Kinch smirked. "Well, at least he wasn't born with his dad's sideburns." Leticia laughed outright at that.

They were quiet for a few moments, both wishing Peter were there, where he belonged.

Eventually, Kinch broke the silence. "So, you guys picked out a name?"

Leticia nodded. "If it was a boy, we had decided to name him for his brother and for Andrew. But, though it is the same name…I want you to know that our son is also named for you. I will tell Peter when the time comes."

She held out the little boy to Kinch, who took him, wide-eyed with awe. He cuddled the little bundle and stared down into emerald green eyes. And then looked at Leticia. "For me-Wait, what?"

She smiled. "His name is James Andrew. For three of his father's brothers."

~TBC~

A/N: Lt. Mills was played by Stewart Moss in "Easy Come, Easy Go." He also, of course, portrayed "Olsen," their "Outside Man," as well as a couple of other characters." RIP Stewart.


	27. Pear-Shaped

Louis saw the three young men straighten in their chairs at the mention of their fathers, and he could not help but chuckle. His friends were very good fathers, and it showed in their sons. "I have been setting some plans into motion. I have been in touch with a friend, and I believe we can rescue all the prisoners... if they can get away." He leaned forward and lowered his voice, almost by reflex. "You see, I have chartered an ocean liner...a hospital ship."

Yvette's eyes widened. She was determined to help, but knew already that to a man, they would tell her no, that it was too dangerous and she must remain here at home.

Louis saw the spark in Yvette's eyes. He knew he needed to address the situation immediately, before she got any bright ideas. "I have asked Mrs. Bouchet* to stay with you while we are away, Yvette. She has agreed."

All three boys nodded. It was a good idea...even if they knew she would not like it.

"No, Papa." Yvette began with her firm tone. She refused to whine, but she also refused to give in. "I am going with you. You will not leave me behind."

Louis' eyes narrowed slightly, and she knew she was treading dangerous ground. " _Cherie_ , it is no place for you...we will be leaving from Tokyo and traveling through very dangerous waters. I will not place you in that sort of danger."

She placed her hands on her hips. "I am going to come with you."

"Should I send you to Music Camp or to a summer retreat while I am away instead?" His tone was slightly acid, but he was not angry. Not yet...

She gasped and folded her arms across her chest. Now _she_ was angry. She was no child, after all! _When would he allow her to grow up?!_ Despite her efforts, she could not resist a stamp of her foot. "Stop it, Papa! I am serious!"

Pete and Jamie sat back, enjoying the show. She had predicted this would happen...and Andy had privately bet the two of them that she would win.

Louis inhaled slowly and studied his daughter. "I never meant to imply that you were a child. I was merely offering acceptable alternatives. You are not going."

She took a step toward him, arms still crossed. "If you leave me behind, I will never speak to you again."

At that, Louis burst out laughing. He knew he shouldn't, but he found the idea that his chatterbox daughter could even consider the idea hilarious. "That is not much of a threat, daughter. I know you, and you have never been good at the silent treatment. Besides, that is a childish tactic. Tell me, what kind of a father would I be to take you into the most unstable and hostile territory in the world?"

She had opened her mouth to speak, but Andy jumped in before she could get another word out. ...

"The same kind of father who would risk everything by going to rescue his friends in the first place. Do you think it will be less dangerous because we are men?"

" _Merci, mon amie_ ," she said softly, her eyes glistening. "I read the news and listen to the radio, just as much as you, Papa. I know what's happening there." She took his hands and looked beseechingly into his eyes. "I want to be something more than the spoiled French girl with the stylish dresses and the coiffures. I want to do something that matters, Papa... like you did. Do not make me stay here, please. Let me help."

Louis bit his lip as he thought about the women of the French Underground...about Tiger and the others he had known. Even though he had given her every opportunity, and she had been quite privileged...Yvette was not spoiled... not really. He knew she was strong, and capable...and that scared him. Because he wanted to protect her, and he knew that he would not always be able to do that. He had shared stories, at least a few, of his time at the Stalag...and she knew he had been much more than just an imprisoned chef. He had made a difference. _And God help him...she was much more like him than he cared to admit._ He sipped his wine and did not speak for a long moment. When he did, his voice was laced with sorrow, and pride. "So, _cherie_ , you will be a Freedom Fighter, too? Like your Papa?" And he smiled at her, though his chocolate eyes were bleak.

A bright smile spread across her face and radiated from her eyes. "Oui, Papa!" She took one more step and wrapped her arms around him. " _Merci_ , Papa! I will not disappoint you!"

As he hugged her, Louis whispered, " _Non, mon cherie_. the one thing you could never do, is disappoint me."

 **~HH~**

Meanwhile, plans were taking shape for Carter and Anton's escape that morning. A conversation took place between the medic Roy DeSoto and Lt. Fields. Roy was sent to discuss a diversion with Lt. Fields.

"It should only take about ten minutes for them to slip out the back. So, we need to keep the guards occupied for that long...What did you have in mind...we don't want a full-scale riot...not with us unarmed."

Roy had an idea. "A medical crisis? God knows we've got plenty real ones here."

Fields nodded, "That could work... doubt the guards would shoot somebody sick or injured...not unless they're havin' a bad day... I like it." He looked at DeSoto. "Do you know anyone good at falls? We could fake somebody falling off one of the roofs... Some of them are low enough the risk of getting really hurt is pretty low."

"Markham could do it."

Fields scratched his jaw. "We have been fixing some of the barracks huts...Yeah, Markham is good... Tell you what...go find him, clue him in and I'll double check all the timing. Then, you two can cook it up...I need to check with Major Carter. Get back to me in the next hour...I know they want to leave by nine."

An hour later, DeSoto and Markham both reported to Fields. "Checking in, Sir."

"Good. You have a plan? I talked with the major. He said as long as he had ten minutes and you guys don't get your asses in a sling, not a problem. Kim is leaving at 0900 sharp. They are already set to meet him on the road. I understand from Major Carter that Markham used to work for a circus or something?"

"Yessir, I did. High wire acrobatics. The fall'll be no problem."

"Okay, so you guys go ahead and stage the fall, and try and make it noisy. We want the guards' attention drawn away from the back especially."

Markham grinned. "It'll be my pleasure."

"Make it convincing, but don't upset the guards if you can help it. You know which guards to avoid, if you can."

Roy raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah, we know. Some of 'em are as like as not to take Doug back up and throw 'im off the roof again, just for kicks."

It was shortly before 0900 when Carter and Anton slid out the trapdoor in the floor of their hut. They hid under the hut until they saw Lt. Kim leave his quarters and head for the jeep.

Carter whispered, "You ready?"

Anton nodded. "Let's go."

"Wait till Markham falls, then head to the back fence...get under as quick as you can. I'll be right behind you."

"Yessir." Right on cue, they heard Markham fall, and the guards began shouting...and Carter nudged Anton. "Go!"

Anton crept out from under the hut, then darted out and toward the back fence. He got under quickly and hid to wait for Carter. Carter waited for Anton to clear the fence, then ran to the fence himself. He could hear DeSoto arguing with the guards. He sent up a quick prayer for his men' safety and rolled under the fence. Anton ran with Carter up to the road, where they found Kim waiting.

They piled into the jeep, and hid underneath a tarp in the back. It was uncomfortable, but they would have to deal with it. They couldn't afford to be seen. Carter surprised Anton by breaking into a chuckle.

Anton whispered, "What's the joke?"

In a low voice, Andrew replied, "I was just thinking back to Stalag 13. How many times we used to hide in or on the camp trucks by rolling up in a tarp, or hiding under one. The colonel, Newkirk and LeBeau even rode all the way to Paris hidden under a tarp on the roof of the Kommandant's staff car once!"

"Mother always told me the Colonel had guts."

"That he does, Anton. That he does."

And then there was no more time for talk. They couldn't have heard each other anyway, once the jeep began bumping down the "road." Before long, Kim pulled well off the track, and turned to them. "I will return in three hours. If you are not here, I will return to the camp. I must not do anything to make the commander suspicious." Carter and Anton agreed with this, and immediately headed into the dense jungle. Anton had been to the orphanage a number of times, so he led the way.

"Careful!" Anton grabbed Carter's arm and pulled him back, then indicated with a finger the almost hidden form of a long, lithe snake wrapped around a branch. "Poisonous. Come this way... we're nearly there."

Carter rolled his eyes. "This damned jungle is gonna be the death of me yet. Thanks!"

"I think you'll make it through the day at least... the orphanage is just around that bend."

Carter smirked and mumbled something rude under his breath as they rounded the bend. The orphanage came into view. "There it is!"

 **~HH~**

On the Trail

It had been quite a while since Hogan had flown any type of aircraft. Generals didn't have a lot of call to be tooling around flying themselves anywhere. Even though the emotional tension was so thick inside the chopper, he was enjoying himself immensely. He had been assured he would see the landing site a few klicks from the orphanage, and he did. Tiger had not said a word since they left the ground, and Newkirk said no more than was needed as co-pilot. Hogan had been concentrating on flying, so it had made for a very quiet flight. He was relieved when the landing site came into view, and he set the craft down expertly, and cut the power.

He turned to his passengers..."Okay, folks, we made it. Let's check out the area...keep a sharp look out. Lots of snakes in the area, and I don't mean just the ones without legs..."

Newkirk barely nodded, and checked his pistol. He nodded to Hogan, and stepped out, although Hogan was surprised when Peter extended his hand to Tiger. "Watch your step, it's a bit slick."

Tiger nodded and took his hand, but kept silent. She stepped down, carefully eyeing the underbrush. "Thank you," she said quietly once she stood on firm ground.

Newkirk said nothing, but nodded. He refrained from smoking, as he might normally have done, because they could not afford to give away their position. He drew his gun and immediately began searching the area, as did Hogan on the other side. Somehow, they seemed to have not drawn unwanted attention with their landing.

"This way." Tiger beckoned to them and headed in the direction of the orphanage. "The path is hard to see... and it's overgrown. But I have walked it before. Tread carefully, and again, watch for snakes."

Hogan nodded and fell in behind her, with Newkirk bringing up the rear.

Tiger led the men along the trail, silent for the first several minutes as she considered how to say what she needed to say. Finally, she worked up the courage. "H-Hogan?"

"What is it? Are you okay?"

She nodded. "Yes... I'm fine. But I..."

She turned to face him, but couldn't bring herself to look him in the eyes. "Hogan... one of the men you will meet today... Anton... he is..." She swallowed hard, and then her gaze locked with his. "He is my son."

Hogan stopped dead in his tracks. "Your son? Why didn't you tell me before?"

She reached to grasp his hands. "He is our son, Robert. And I did not tell you because I heard that you were married. I did not wish to disturb your life."

Hogan's mind went blank for a moment. A son. They had a son. Which meant she had been pregnant when he last saw her...on that damned German road. He had kissed her goodbye, and she had walked out of his life though neither one had realized at the time it would be forever. Quietly, he said, "Did you know? That last time...on the road...you were-did you know?"

Neither of them noticed Newkirk clenching his fists, though he remained silent.

She kissed his hand and shook her head. "No, Robert... I would not do that to you. I found out several weeks later, when I was already back in Paris."

He thought about that. In all fairness, she had left London almost immediately after they had gotten her out...and she had apparently gone back to Paris within just a few weeks. She had known they had no chance. But still...

He said nothing for a few minutes. He took a deep breath. "Well, we have a ways to go, I suggest we get moving." He knew it was cold, but he could not even begin to imagine how he was supposed to react, let alone make sense of the feelings that were washing over him. She hadn't lied, but she hadn't told him the truth, either...she could have at least...but no, if he had known, what would he have done? So, in the end...he said nothing about it...and simply beckoned to the path. "Shall we?

She looked into his eyes a few seconds longer, then nodded without a word and turned to continue leading the way. Her heart ached, and she wished she knew what she could do to make things better.

Behind them, Newkirk continued to scan for patrols, but the other two knew he was seething.

After a few minutes of moving forward in silence, Tiger finally had enough of it. She whirled around on her heel and glared at Hogan. "Say something already!" she hissed. She kept her voice low, fully aware that there could be Viet Cong patrols nearby, but her eyes flashed with anger. "Say anything... just don't keep up this... this cold _nothing_!"

And suddenly, Hogan was as angry as she was. "You stole my life! You had the son I have always wanted... I went back and married a woman just because she looked... and God forgive me, but it _is_ true. Marilyn looked just like you...and she lived in your shadow _all our lives_. I could never be the husband she needed...because always...ALWAYS, Marie...you were there. And she accepted that...and loved me anyway. And there you were...raising my son...without me." He felt as if he had been punched in the gut...and he had to turn away...away from her beautiful eyes...eyes he had never forgotten...that belonged to the woman he had never stopped loving.

And Newkirk snorted in... what...anger? Disgust? Pain? He did not bother to try to analyze it. He only knew that the guv was hurting...again. Because of her.

"And what would you have done if I had told you... left Marilyn? That is not the kind of man you are, Robert."

He turned back..."Actually, that is exactly the kind of man I am. She would have been better off. Maybe she could have found someone better for her...maybe she could have been more than second-best."

Tiger opened her mouth, ready to respond with an angry retort, and then snapped it shut again. She turned and started moving forward again, muttering to herself. "Of all the arrogant, stubborn, pig-headed men I could have... could have... loved..." She blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over. Then she stumbled over a log in the path and reached to steady herself on a tree.

Hogan took another breath and went to follow her. He reached for Tiger when she stumbled, intent only on keeping her from falling. He never saw the danger she was in. But Newkirk had. In a lightning quick move, he grabbed his knife from the sheath suspended between his shoulder blades and threw it hard into the branch that was just inches from Tiger's hand. Right through the poisonous snake that had nearly struck her.

Her mind took a moment to register what had happened. The _thunk_ of the knife... the snake on the branch... Hogan's arms around her... She leaned into his embrace, her face white as a sheet. "I... I assume Peter was aiming at the snake and not at me?" Her voice had a hint of wry humor in it.

Newkirk silently pulled his knife out of the branch and tossed the dead snake far into the jungle. He shrugged. "I always hit what I aim at." He appreciated her attempt at humor...He did not want her to be grateful. He wanted her to just go away after this and leave his friend alone...or did he? Disgusted with himself, and realizing that since he knew now where they were headed, he took point. He figured they would follow when they were ready.

"I should have told you," she whispered. There... she had admitted it. "So many times, I wanted to tell you..."

Hogan nodded...and brushed his fingers across her lips. "We can't change it now, Marie. What's done is done. The question is, what do you want now? I meant it when I said I never stopped loving you. And I meant everything else I said, too. Can you live with that? What is it you want? Because I know what I want..." and he brushed her lips lightly with his.

She returned his kiss, lightly at first, and then hungrily, eager for more. There had never been anyone else for her, and she had no question of what she wanted. She wanted _him_.

Newkirk turned just in time to witness the kiss. He sighed, and thought back to the horrible depression the guv had suffered through. He had helped Hogan pick up the pieces back then. He supposed he could do it again if he had to. _But he'd better not have to._

After a moment, Tiger pulled back, though her eyes lingered on Hogan's face. "We must go on. We have a job to do and... our son is waiting to meet his father."

He nodded. "Yeah, and we have a lot of men counting on us. Let's go." Newkirk had turned away, so they never realized he had seen the kiss. He made a show of cleaning his knife as he waited for them. He was just re-sheathing it when they joined him on the path.

Things went along quite well for the next half-hour, with Tiger once again in the lead. And then, unexpectedly, Peter was the one who fell.

Tiger darted back. "Peter?"

He was sitting on the ground, his face twisted in pain. When he realized Tiger was kneeling next to him, he carefully schooled his features into their normal poker face. He had caught his foot-the fake one-on a root, and he had pitched forward as a result. He knew it may have thrown the prosthetic a bit out of alignment, but he had no time to deal with it now. He pushed down the pain and grinned. "Tripped over me own two feet, that's all. I'm fine." He huffed in frustration and attempted to stand. It hurt, but he made it...barely.

She saw the pain in his eyes, and she also saw the moment he brought his expression under careful control. She glanced back at Hogan for guidance. He knew Peter so much better than she did, and her own friendship with the man was fraught with tension right now. Hogan would have to take the lead here.

Hogan caught her silent message, and he was grateful for it. She didn't fuss over him. And that was good, because it would have made everything worse. He had figured out what had happened the moment Newkirk had fallen. He could have kicked himself, because the undergrowth was hard for him to handle...and he had truly forgotten about Peter's leg. He looked at the Brit. "You okay?"

Newkirk nodded. "Yeah, might have bruised a bit more than me ego...but I can make it."

Hogan nodded. "Good enough, then. Let's go." And they moved out again, though Hogan was watching Peter much more closely. He knew there would be hell to pay if Peter had messed up his knee. He remembered a time back in the Stalag when he had done just that. He shook his head and prayed it wasn't that serious.

"It's not much farther," Tiger murmured as they moved on. "Just around this bend." Her eyes caught a flash of movement and she knew a child was even now running to alert Taffy to their arrival.

Tiger came around the bend first and saw the cluster of huts that comprised the orphanage. On the porch of Taffy's hut stood a bearded man, unkempt and in ragged clothing. Several of the children came running, calling happily to her. She picked up a little girl and kissed her on the forehead. "How are you, Cam, darling?"

"I'm okay...how are you, Miss Tiger?" It never failed to amuse Marie that Taffy had taught the children to address her in this manner. And that they were always unfailingly polite.

"Happy to see you." Tiger's eyes shone, and she pulled a couple of chocolate bars from her pocket. "Here... take one square and share the rest with the other children. There should be enough for all of you." She knew the child well enough to know she would be fair.

Then she set the little girl on the ground again and nodded to the skinny man on the porch. He must have come with her son from the camp... or maybe in his place... _had there been some problem?_ "Anton... is he here?"

Carter chuckled softly, realizing she hadn't recognized him... His voice was quiet when he smiled..."Hello, Tiger. It's been a long time."

Her eyes widened and she gasped. "Carter!"

He grinned then, and all the pain and misery of the past month seemed to melt away. The abuse was obvious...but his smile was exactly as it had always been...even nearly hidden by the scraggly beard.

His eyes twinkled a bit..."Anton is just inside...he's waiting for you."

Tiger ran the rest of the way to the hut and up the steps. She stopped to give Carter a hug, then moved past him and through the door.

Hogan came across the yard more slowly. He was shocked by Carter's appearance...He knew this man as well as anyone could...and he had not recognized him. _The man had been through hell_. And Hogan was furious. He stepped onto the porch, trying to keep his emotions in check. "Hello, Carter." Carter smiled..."Guess I sorta made a mess of things. Sorry, Colonel." It was so... _Carter_...that Hogan had a hard time keeping it together. "Nah, things go pear-shaped all the time. You did fine." Carter nodded, though Hogan could not help noticing that Carter's hands were shaking...and he had never seen him so exhausted. "Don't worry, Andrew...you've done well. You kept them safe...and we _will_ get them out. I promise you that."

Carter sighed. "They're good men. Too good to go through this." Hogan nodded, and turned to the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Newkirk limping across the yard. As he expected, Carter nearly leapt off the porch to get to his friend. Hogan smiled. Carter would be fine, and so would Newkirk _. In time._ Now, he had a son to meet, and he was nervous as hell. He stepped through the doorway...and came face to face with his son.

Anton moved past his mother, his eyes fastened on the face he would know anywhere. "Hello, Dad."

And Hogan, though he knew it was true, could not help but marvel. The boy was a perfect blend of the two of them. He had...a son. And though it might not have been the "manly thing to do... he stepped forward, and hugged the boy…the young man, he reminded himself. He closed his eyes and thought, _it isn't fair. We've missed so much._

Anton closed his eyes as he felt his father's arms enclose him. He could have stayed there for a long time quite contentedly... so many times as a boy he had longed for just this moment. But now, they had plans to make and a camp full of men to rescue. He returned his father's embrace and then stepped out of it. "Let's get to work, Sir."

Hogan chuckled as he put his arm around Marie..."Yeah, let's."

 **~TBC~**

 **A/N:** * Mrs. Bouchet is Claude Bouchet's wife. He was a Free French flyer/actor whom the boys rescued back at Stalag 13 in the episode "The Reverend Kommandant Klink." She was the beautiful blonde Louis brought from Paris on a motorcycle.


	28. Moving Forward

June 1944

Allied HQ, London

Kinch looked around the small room that was his temporary home. He knew London would be sending him somewhere far from Stalag 13… probably even far from Germany, but he had no clue where yet, or what his duties would be. He was a superb radioman. That had been his job before his capture… he had been a radioman on a B-17 that had been shot down over Hamburg.

He sighed as he sat at the small desk in his quarters. He missed the guys back in camp. He had played a vital role in Papa Bear's operation…and he did not want to go back to being just another cog in the wheel. He wanted to make a real difference. And he was not stupid. Col. Hogan and the others in the operation had been colorblind. The real world was not. Most especially, not the United States Army. Europe was better about the race issue, but not much. Chances were good he would end up in a "coloreds only" unit somewhere. It would be too much to hope that he would be in any sort of leadership position like that he had enjoyed at Stalag 13.

The years he had spent there were not what he would ever term "enjoyable," by any stretch of the imagination, but he could honestly say he did not regret them. He had made lifelong friends, and had known that every operation he had been a part of had made a difference. Life had been hard there, but in many ways, it had been good, because he had been treated as an equal by the core team. He had belonged.

A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts, and he stood up quickly and answered it. A young private silently handed him a message and left as soon as he had taken it. Kinch opened the message and read it. It told him to be ready at 0700 the following morning to head to his new post. So…it was time. He sat deep in thought for a while, and then made his decision. He grabbed his jacket and cap, and headed to the hospital to visit Leticia. He dodged his escort and went alone. He knew it was likely the last time he would see her for a long while. He would then see if he could meet Mavis and Helga somewhere before he left. At the least, Leticia could get a message to them for him. With these plans in mind, Kinch left his quarters, and headed to St. Anne's.

~HH~

Stalag 13

Hogan and Carter made it back to Barracks 2 with no problems, although they had to change very quickly in order to make roll call. There was no time for talk with anyone although a grinning Baker did manage to hand Hogan a message that had arrived just as they entered the tunnel. Hogan read it and handed it to Carter, who for once kept quiet, but grinned as well. Hogan knew he had something important to do right after roll call. They made it into their customary places in line with only a couple of minutes to spare. Unfortunately, Klink was feeling rather expansive for some reason, and so he droned on for almost an hour. The men were all bored silly, but Carter was too distracted to contribute his usual wisecracks, and remained quiet. Eventually, Klink ran out of steam, and dismissed them. They trooped back inside the barracks, and Newkirk immediately began dealing out a game of gin while they waited for LeBeau to serve breakfast. The attitude towards Carter was still a bit chilly, but because Newkirk had forgiven him, things were on the way back to normal…as normal as they ever got, anyway.

Hogan went immediately to his quarters, and brought out the box of cigars from London, and placed them in front of Newkirk. Everyone remembered the last time he had done this, and it took Newkirk exactly five seconds to make the connection. His eyes got wide and he looked at Hogan. Carter could contain himself no longer, and he grinned at his best friend. "Hi, Daddy!"

Newkirk looked back at Carter. "Seriously?" Carter nodded happily, and Hogan pulled out the message that Leticia and the baby were doing well and handed it to the Brit. Newkirk scanned it quickly and looked around at the others. "A boy! I 'ave a son!"

Hogan grinned. "That's right, Newkirk…I guess this means there are officially TWO Papa Bears now!"

Olsen piped up, "So, do you guys have a name picked out yet?"

Newkirk smiled. "Yeah, we picked it out a long time ago. He looked at his best friend. "We named 'im for me brother Jamie and for…well, me other brother, too. His name is James Andrew."

Carter's jaw dropped, and for once, he was completely speechless.

~HH~

Two days after the birth of Jamie Newkirk, it happened. They had known it was coming, had even helped make it happen. They just didn't know exactly _when_ it would actually take place. Very few people did. And later, they could honestly say they knew when it happened, because London went completely silent. And then, the Germans went into a panic. Because the Allies staged a massive invasion on the beaches of Normandy. The naval portion of the invasion was called NEPTUNE. The overall invasion was called OVERLORD. The world would come to remember 6 June 44 as D-Day. * The men of Stalag 13 would come to remember 6 June 44 as the beginning of the end.

A/N: An interesting side note for those unfamiliar with military designations is that the "D" in D-Day did not stand for anything. It is simply a "place-holder" designation for the date of the beginning of a mission or operation. Similarly, H-Hour, also used that day, is used to designate the beginning hour of a mission or operation.


	29. Impromptu Escape

Camp 208 1964

Things were chaotic in camp for a while after Carter and Anton made it beyond the fence. Luckily, the guards seemed to figure that Markham falling from the roof was a simple accident, and there were no repercussions on any of the prisoners.

Things settled down, and those who knew about the escape could only pray that the two men not only made it to their destination, but made it back safely as well. Their hopes were dashed very quickly. The huts were open for their two hours of relative freedom… if one could call it that. Most of the men sat around either inside or outside the huts chatting with each other, or smoking. There were a few plants that grew inside the fence, and one of the men had experimented with drying them and turning the blend of dried leaves into erstwhile tobacco. He ran a good business trading for it. The few bits of paper that made their way into camp were quickly appropriated and used to roll the cigarettes.

Suddenly, Markham sidled up to Lt. Fields. Urgently he whispered, "We got trouble!" and the two men carefully headed behind the main building. Quietly, Fields asked, "What is it?"

Markham, his eyes wide, whispered, "Something went wrong. The commandant is not out, like he was supposed to be. He's awake and getting ready to call a special roll call. He knows! Somehow, he knows!"

Fields stared at the man. "How did you find this out?"

"After the guards let me go, I figured I'd better keep an eye on things, so I grabbed some of the roof patches and climbed up onto the roof of the office. The guards saw me, but I guess they figured I was okay, because they left me alone after I showed them what I was doing."

Fields rubbed his chin. "This is bad. No way can we hide that Major Carter is gone. Why didn't the tea work?"

Markham shrugged. "No idea. But it didn't. Maybe he didn't drink it."

Fields nodded. "It's possible, but why would he break his routine?" He thought quickly. "Look, go on back and let the others know quietly. Tell everyone to line up, but be ready for anything. I'll try to bluff him, but if not, things could get ugly real fast. Be sure to let Doc D know."

Markham nodded and took off to begin the alert. As he headed into his hut to let those men know what was happening, a thought struck Fields. _Oh, no! Duffy! Duffy was the traitor! And he likely had not given the commandant the doctored tea, and had probably been passing intel to him all along! They were in a world of trouble. Because now, the commandant would likely not wait another week to execute them all…_

~HH~

The Orphanage

Hogan grinned at Anton. "You're right, son. We have a lot of work to do." He turned to look at the others as they gathered around the table in Taffy's kitchen. The house was small, but well-laid out, and the kitchen was the natural central gathering point. There was enough room for them all, and, after they sat, they all just looked at each other for a moment, before Taffy spoke.

"It's good to see you all, my friends, although I never expected it. Colonel…er…General, what we face today and over the next few weeks is going to be very dangerous. I would like to ask a blessing right now, before we get started." The chaplain smiled at the nods that went around the table as Hogan quickly agreed. _Even Newkirk was agreeable, and Taffy took that to mean that even now, God was working on the man._ He asked the blessing on all of them, the team, the prisoners, and the orphans. When he had finished, General Hogan began to speak.

"We need to come up with a plan to get all the prisoners out of the camp at one time. There is not going to be time to set up an escape network, the way we had originally planned. Our intelligence tells us they had a tunnel dug, but it was discovered and caved in. Because of that discovery, the guards have been extraordinarily vigilant—"

He was interrupted when Markham threw open the door and ran inside, breathless from exertion and anxiety. As soon as Fields had told him about Duffy, he had spread the alarm in camp and then stolen a motorcycle so he could get to the orphanage as quickly as possible. "Major Carter… traitor... Duffy! Commandant knows!" His message delivered, he stood with his hands on his knees, desperately trying to catch his breath.

Carter jumped up and went to Markham. He put an arm around him to support him and helped him to a chair. "Easy, soldier. Get your breath and tell me what's happening."

Markham drew in a couple of deep breaths. "The commandant didn't fall asleep. We're sure he knows about the escape-will probably move up the executions. Fields says Duffy is a traitor… has been feeding him information."

Carter looked at Hogan. "It's your show, sir. We gotta get those men out of there right away!"

Hogan looked hard at Carter. The man had been through hell, but you would never know it. He was still dirty and scruffy, but the shakiness Hogan had noticed earlier was gone. "No, Carter. It's _our_ show. We need to figure this out." Carter nodded.

Anton frowned. "If I get my hands on Duffy…" But when Tiger reached to touch him lightly on the shoulder and shook her head, he left the threat unspoken.

Hogan looked at his son-his son! - "No time for worrying about revenge right now. Unless I miss my guess, we are gonna have to get the guys out of here today. Hopefully, they will be able to get out of the camp, and get here. We need to contact LeBeau, and see exactly what the status of the ship is, and what we need to do to start the men on their way to the pick-up point."

He then turned to Taffy. "You need to get the orphans ready to move. They're gonna have to go with us."

Taffy frowned. "Most of them would be fine, I suppose, but, as Tiger knows, we have had several small girls staying with us. Their families were killed during one of the attacks. They would never be able to make the trip to the pick-up. And no vehicle can make it the way we will have to travel. I could take the young ones and hide somewhere, until it is safe to come back here."

Tiger sat up straight and leaned forward, her intense gaze on Taffy. "It will not be safe to come back here. Taffy, they will tear this place apart, probably burn it down. You will be the first one they suspect. They won't rest in trying to find you, and if they can't find you, they will hope to use the children to lure you. We will help them on the journey."

Taffy stood then, and the others watched him walk slowly around the room. He touched the ancient roll-top desk, and then slowly fingered the bright curtains hanging at the window. They all heard the pain in his voice when he murmured, "All we have built...all we have fought for...gone."

He turned back to Hogan, and shook his head. "No. I will not go. There will be more who need me here. This is my home. I will not go. Take the children, all of them, so they will be safe. But I am staying." Taffy looked his old friend in the eye. "General, this is my duty. You may not agree, but I will NOT abandon my post. So, let us plan for the soldiers going with you. We have much to discuss."

And he sat down at his place, the topic closed.

Tiger turned to Hogan. Her eyes were bright with tears, but she blinked them back, determined not to let them fall. She opened her mouth to plead with him to talk some sense into Taffy, but then snapped it shut. As Hogan had said, there was no time. They had to figure things out now. Later, she hoped, they would have a chance to change Taffy's mind.

Carter nodded. "Colonel-General, we don't have time. The men are likely on their way."

Hogan looked blankly at Carter for a moment, and then looked over at Taffy. He nodded briskly. They would just move on. He said no more about it.

So far, Anton had been watching, listening, keeping quiet. Now he leaned forward and looked around, then broke the awkward silence. "Sir… we have men who are pretty sick, not really up to traveling. Whatever plan we make has to take them into account."

Hogan sighed, and thought for a moment. "Okay, best thing would be to get to the chopper in the clearing. That way, we would only have to get the wounded and the little ones that far. It's only a couple of klicks from here. The bad thing about that is that we would alert Charlie to our presence."

Newkirk had been uncharacteristically silent ever since he and Carter had come into the room. Now, he looked at the others. "I'll do it sir. The chopper's already there. I can get the kids out." He grinned sardonically. "Been brushin' up on me flyin' skills. I can do it, sir. In fact, I could grab the chopper an' bring it back here. Then we could load 'em from here. I could find someplace to land."

Hogan frowned again. It was a suicide mission, and they both knew it. _But they also both knew it was the only way_. He sighed as he looked at his old friend. A world of understanding and memories flashed between the two. Finally, Hogan nodded, and Newkirk leaned back, satisfied for the moment. Peter looked over at Taffy as he indicated the spot where he kept his ever-present pack of cigarettes. "You mind?"

Taffy smirked. "Have I ever? Go ahead."

Newkirk grinned as he lit the cigarette he drew from his pocket. "Ta, mate!"

They all chuckled when Carter immediately commandeered the cigarette for himself, and Newkirk lit another. _Some things never changed._


	30. Our Man in Washington

June 1944

London HQ

Due to the tremendous upheaval caused by the invasion of Normandy, Kinch's orders ended up on hold for a few days longer than planned, though he was not given any more idea where he was to be assigned. He did not mind as it gave him a little more time to visit with Helga and her family and with Mavis Newkirk. He knew Peter would be livid if he knew his sister had taken an active role with the Underground by acting as a guide, shepherding refugees through part of the escape route to London. She had also become an extremely skilled forger, apparently sharing some of her brother's talent. She had made Kinch promise he would never allow Peter to find out. Under the circumstances, Kinch felt it would likely be an easy promise for him to keep.

Finally, Kinch received his orders, and he said his goodbyes for real and he went that evening to find Helga and Mavis. It was tough, but as he told the girls, he would likely see them again in London after the war. They all agreed to meet at the Red Lion someday, and Kinch walked away, not daring to look back, because tough guys don't cry, you see. For their part, Helga and Mavis had no such strictures at all, and for a moment, the London traffic streamed around them as they watched their tall young friend disappear into the fog.

He was awake and ready early the next morning when his escort tapped on his door. The young man had him bring his few things with him, and Kinch looked around the small room, making sure he hadn't forgotten anything. Unlike the other mornings he had been here, he had not made the bed or policed the room, since he knew they would be cleaning it thoroughly and getting it ready for its next occupant. He double-checked his travel documents and grabbed his coat and hat. He smiled at the young sergeant standing patiently by the door. "Well, I guess I'm ready as I'll ever be."

"Your orders are sealed, and you will receive them later. I'm to take you to chow, and then there will be a car waiting to take you from there. I do know you have a long flight ahead of you."

The other man grinned and opened the door as Kinch shouldered his duffel. Sgt. Richmond had been kind to him during his stay, seeming to be another man cut from the same cloth as Hogan and many of the others back at the Stalag—colorblind. As they made their way out to the street, Kinch ventured one more question. "So, you said it's gonna be a long flight. Any idea which direction I'm headed?"

"Well, not really, but, there is one good thing."

"What's that?"

"You had all your shots already?"

"Yeah, two years ago, the Red Cross sent in the supplies. Our medic had a field day turning us all into pincushions." *

Richmond shrugged. "Well, in that case, at your height, if they send you into combat, all you have to worry about is remembering to duck!"

Kinch grinned and shook his head. "Gee, thanks a lot!"

….

As promised, a car was waiting when the two men stepped out onto the sidewalk a half-hour later. Kinch shook hands with Richmond, and climbed into the back of the car, and found himself at the same airfield he had flown into a few nights before, on his return from Germany. He was directed to a small plane, which told him this was only the beginning of his journey, as a small twin engine plane such as this one would not have a particularly long range.

Sure enough, he was not surprised when they landed a little while later at RAF St Mawgan in Cornwall. He had never been there but had communicated with the base during his days as a bomber radioman, though it had been called RAF Trebelzue at that time. ** He had not been on many raids out this way, but there had been a few where their route had carried them over Cornwall. Now, he wondered where in the world he could be going that required him to embark from this remote part of England.

He was further amazed when he was led onto the field and to what looked at first to him like a beautiful four-engine Lancaster bomber… but he saw some immediate differences. For one thing, there were no bombs attached. Otherwise, her lines were very similar. He turned to the crewman accompanying him across the base, who grinned. The young RAF corporal grinned, his green eyes and Cockney accent immediately reminding Kinch of Newkirk. "'S'right guv. Wit' this ol' gel, you'll be needin' a fighter escort. But, I wouldn't worry on that score. You got enough brass travelin' wit' ya, you'll 'ave all the escort you'll need!"

Before Kinch had a chance to puzzle out what the corporal meant as he stood gazing at the obviously brand-new airplane***, an official staff car pulled onto the field, up close to the plane. Much to Kinch's amazement, the general who alighted from the car was none other than General Michael Jameson, the general also known in very limited circles as "Lone Eagle." Kinch stared at the man he had last seen two days ago im the conference room at Allied Headquarters. Kinch suddenly remembered himself and saluted sharply. General Jameson returned the salute and indicated the ramp leading to the open door of the aircraft. "Shall we, Sergeant?"

Kinch was somewhat confused as he stepped aboard the plane, wondering why the general had not mentioned anything to him about this when he had seen him before. However, he also knew better than to ask questions. He knew he would be told what he needed to know when the Army was ready. He looked around and was pleasantly surprised. This particular craft had obviously been fitted out for VIP travel. He was amazed at the roomy, comfortable seats, and even more so that there was a full galley, where they could apparently cook and serve hot meals. ****

He waited for the general and the men with him to seat themselves. The general pointed to the seat opposite from his, which had been left open. There was a table between them, and a large envelope marked "TOP SECRET-PENTAGON" lying on the table. "Have a seat, Kinchloe. Get buckled in. We have a lot to discuss, and we'll have some coffee and get started after we get in the air."

Kinch sat down and leaned back into his seat as he heard the engines roar to life. He watched as the others took their seats and prepared for take-off. As he adjusted the lap belt, he wondered what in the world he was getting himself in for. Whatever it was, he was pretty sure it was not going to be boring. With any luck at all, he was not going to wind up just another cog in the wheel after all…

~TBC~

A/N: *In 1942, the U.S. military vaccinated _all_ active duty personnel against tetanus, typhoid, smallpox, cholera, and yellow fever, thereby curbing or eliminating these diseases during WWII. I have taken the liberty of allowing the Red Cross to send the vaccines and supplies so Sgt. Wilson could vaccinate our boys. Whether POWs in real life received those vaccines, I do not know.

**RAF Trebelzue - Opened as a civilian airfield in 1933, this small airfield located in Cornwall was requisitioned at the outbreak of World War II and named RAF Trebelzue. Initially it was a satellite of RAF St Eval. In February 1943 it was expanded with two concrete runways and its name was changed to RAF St Mawgan.

***The plane I am referring to is the Avro 685, a first cousin to the Lancaster bomber. It was a prototype, and when combined with the new Mid-Atlantic Route, gave the Allies many advantages during the war as far as overseas transport was concerned.

**** In 1936, United Airlines installed the first on-board kitchens to provide air passengers with hot meals. Other airlines soon follow suit. I do not know if the Avro 685 was ever kitted to this extent, but the one in my story has been elevated to VIP status.


	31. Ready, Set

June 1964

The Orphanage

Near Camp 208

Hogan sent Markham out to the edge of the jungle to keep watch. He also intended to talk to Carter about exactly what had happened at the camp. He knew Carter was barely hanging on, and he needed to know exactly how badly he was hurt. He also knew it was not going to be a simple conversation. He saw Taffy head towards the radio, and knew he was contacting LeBeau. He also knew Taffy had sent Phan out to help get the orphans ready. Things were going to get very interesting very quickly. He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. He glanced over and caught Marie's eye. At least that was one good thing that had come from all of this. He smiled at her. He couldn't believe she was actually there… here.

Marie caught Hogan's smile and returned it, but her own smile quickly faded as she stepped over to his side and took his hand in her own. "You know you are signing Peter's death warrant if you let him carry out this crazy plan, don't you?"

He looked at her intently for a moment. "You're right. Trucks would be better, but I don't happen to have any, and those men will never make it any other way. But, you're right." He dropped her hand. "He is not a good enough pilot for this mission." He turned to where Peter stood across the room quietly talking with Carter. "Newkirk, you can lead the boys out. I'll get the kids out." And with that, he stalked quietly out of the room.

Marie gasped, and her eyes went wide. That was not what she had intended! There had to be some other way… a way that would not involve losing Hogan now after they had finally been brought back together! But he had walked out… shut down that line of communication.

Shaking her head and muttering in French, she went to find her son. "Anton! You must talk some sense into him!"

Anton nodded. "I don't know him very well, but I'll try." The young man set his shoulders and followed his father outside. Carter looked over at Marie, debating whether he should say what was on his mind. Finally, he decided that leaving well enough alone in this instance could be disastrous. Carefully, he stood, mindful of the bruises and stiff muscles that were making themselves known.

"Tiger, can I talk to you? Alone?"

Marie was staring at the door, silently willing Hogan to come back and tell her he'd thought of a better plan when Carter's voice cut through her thoughts. She turned with a soft sigh. "Yes, Andrew… of course."

He led her to the small parlor, and they sat, he on the small sofa, she in the rocking chair. "No disrespect meant, but you got this all wrong."

"What do you mean, Carter?"

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "See, when the colonel walked out, you needed to follow him, and talk to him. He needs for you to do that. He shuts down like that a lot… just figures he has the final word and that's it. Nobody argues with him… and he's done. But sometimes… especially when he isn't thinking things through real clear, he needs somebody to help him see it. And to show him he's not alone. Marilyn just used to let him make all the decisions, and never had an opinion about anything. She loved him and everything, but she wasn't, you know, a-a partner." He blushed and stumbled to a halt. "I'm sorry. I talk too much. I just know he needs you, that's all."

Marie stared at Carter for a long second, then blinked. "You… you're right. Don't apologize, Carter. I just… it's been so long." She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Excuse me now…" And she turned around and hurried out the door to find Hogan.

She did not have far to go. Just down the steps and around the building to where the men stood talking and watching some of the little ones tossing an American football some soldier had given them.

She strode over to Hogan and stepped in front of him. "You can't do this. It's a fool's errand and you know it. There _must_ be a better way. I just found you again… I am not about to lose you now. Your son and I need you alive and well."

Hogan raised an eyebrow and glanced over at Anton, who took one look at his parents and quickly joined the kids in their game of catch...much to the delight of the little boys.

Hogan turned to Marie. "Okay, granted, it's not the greatest plan. But I don't happen to have a lot of time and I don't have a bunch of trucks in my back pocket. So, what do you suggest as an alternative? Newkirk and I are the only pilots and there is one helicopter available. Carter is a fair pilot himself, but he is in no shape at all. So, what do you want me to do, make those boys who are medically in no condition to escape stay behind? If you have another idea, then let's hear it."

She frowned as she thought for a moment. Back at Stalag 13, you helped yourself to the motor pool whenever you wanted. Couldn't you steal some trucks?"

"We haven't had that kind of time here. But that's not a bad idea. Maybe we ought to just steal the whole damned camp while we're at it… But even if we do manage to get our hands on some trucks, it's gonna be too dangerous to have a bunch of kids in the convoy. I still think we'd be better off letting Newkirk take the kids out on one trip to the ship. Besides, then, he could come back with one of the MedEvac teams, and that would get the Huey out of the jungle."

Hogan looked at Marie, wondering what she was thinking.

"I don't like it," Marie said. "Anton… what do you think?" She hated the idea of either Hogan or Newkirk up in the Huey and was afraid to admit that Hogan might be right. She broke eye contact with Hogan and looked to her son, only to find him on the ground, playing with the boys. Her worried expression smoothed itself into a smile. "Anton!"

Anton looked up from his position on the ground where he was currently buried under a gaggle of little boys, who were all intent on finding the small pieces of chocolate Taffy had given him. Anton had wrapped up the pieces and shoved them in various pockets and was now in a monumental wrestling match with the boys, though he had been listening to the conversation.

"I-oooff-uuh, well, I think Dad may be right. I don't see-ouch, hey, leave the skin, willya!" He grimaced as a grimy hand dipped into his front pocket and extracted a chocolate packet. The boy squealed in delight and Anton playfully pushed him off. "Okay, off. You got yours, Duc." The little boy grinned and headed top-speed for the house, as his brother piled onto the fray. Anton laughed and continued the conversation. "Sorry. I think one trip anyway… for the smallest ones. If we do manage to get the trucks, I think we'll be okay." He turned and looked at his mother. "Mom, I've seen these guys. If they catch those babies, they won't hesitate to shoot them right where they stand. I think that makes the risk worth it."

Marie nodded slowly, then turned reluctantly to Hogan. "You should do it," she said. "As you said, you are the better pilot. And… I've seen you pull off the impossible before." She squeezed his hand and then kissed his cheek. "Just… promise you'll come back to me. Please."

Hogan pulled her close. He stared down into her eyes. "I love you, Marie. And I promise you, I will come back to you."

"NO."

The word was spoken quietly, but very clearly. Hogan was startled and turned towards the voice. Newkirk stood staring at them, his chin raised in defiance, his green eyes flashing dangerously. He had apparently been standing there long enough to have heard most of their conversation.

"Colonel, you gave _me_ that assignment. I bloody well am good enough for this mission. And as Tiger says, you just found each other. You 'ave a family to think about...a son. Besides… you never backed out on a mission once you 'anded it out before. D'ya think I can't 'andle it because 'o me leg, sir? Or is it that you want to prove you're still a hero?"

Tiger whirled around to face Newkirk. "You idiot!" She was seething. "You are the one who has been trying to prove something from the moment we met again. Well, this has _nothing_ to do with your leg or proving anything! Before you lost your leg, you would not have felt threatened by the suggestion that Hogan was a better pilot, would you? Don't you think I hate the idea of sending Hogan up in that helicopter?! But all feelings aside, he is the most likely one to succeed and return safely."

Newkirk stared at her "And why is that? Because you say so? All things bein' equal, he has been out of the field for a long time. I have been out there. In the field. "E's been pushing papers. That's what generals do."

Hogan held up a hand. "Look, knock it off. Newkirk, you do have more recent experience in the field, granted. But, I think it would be better if I took this one."

Newkirk shook his head vehemently. "No, sir. Yer makin' a mistake."

Hogan stared at the Brit. Rarely had he seen him so set about something. "Why, Peter?"

Newkirk pointed directly at Tiger. "Because, I can live with her knowing I died out there if I don't come back, but I _cannot_ live with her knowing that you died out there when it should have been me if you don't come back!" And with that spectacularly convoluted statement, Newkirk wheeled away and stormed off to go relieve Markham.

Tiger watched Newkirk go. "His logic… confounds me. And… what about his family?"

Amazingly, Hogan was smiling. He shook his head and sighed. "Yeah, but I guarantee his Leticia is used to him." He stared off into space for a moment...thinking, before making his decision.

He turned to Anton, who had finally gotten all the boys sorted out and playing a somewhat quieter—and safer-game. "Would you go ask Newkirk to come back, please?"

Anton nodded and hurried off. Hogan looked at Tiger and smiled sadly. They watched the two men come back into sight, and Hogan called to Newkirk, "Guess you better grab your flight jacket. You're gonna need it."

~TBC~


	32. Turning Points

Warning: The second half of this chapter is dark, includes OC death.

June 1944

Fort Humphreys WDC *

Kinch was tired. The long flight to Washington, DC had left him drained. The route had taken them from RAF St Mawgan, Cornwall to Lagens Field on Terceira Island in the Azores for a refueling stop and then to Kindley Field near Jacksonville, Florida for another refueling stop**. Finally, they made their way to Camp Springs Airbase***, in Washington, DC. The route they had taken had only recently been adopted by the military and was known as the Mid-Atlantic Route. Kinch knew that it was hailed as a huge step forward for the Allies, but for the moment, he would be impressed after he got some sleep.

It was not that he didn't have an opportunity on the plane. Quite the contrary. That particular aircraft had been very comfortable, and the general and the others had probably slept well. It was just that he always slept poorly during transport flights, no matter how comfortable they might be—and normally, they were not that comfortable. Besides, he had a lot to think about. The general had made him an offer during the flight. But the general had also make it clear that he had options, which Kinch appreciated. Because General Jameson had offered him a promotion. But they both knew it would not be easy being a black officer serving on the general's personal staff at the Pentagon. He had given Kinch until 1400 the following afternoon to decide. And unlike most of the decisions he had faced over the previous three years, there was no Colonel Hogan to turn to for advice.

Kinch walked over to the small closet and pulled out his uniform jacket. He pulled out the box and walked back to bed and sat down. General Jameson had insisted he keep it until their meeting. He opened the lid, for perhaps the tenth time and stared at the gold bars inside. He smiled. He had never backed down from a challenge yet. _Why start now?_

~HH~

November 1944

Stalag 13

The war was coming to an end. Both sides knew it. As a result, both sides were throwing everything they had at each other. Therefore, there were more downed flyers to rescue, and more missions to accomplish. The weather had turned bitter…much colder than anyone could remember. None of the men even remembered what it was like to be warm or comfortable. London had kept them very busy lately, sometimes assigning them back-to-back missions. On one memorable occasion, they broke their own record and pulled four jobs on the same night.

If they had not been so exhausted, they might have celebrated. As it was, Newkirk simply climbed up into his bunk fully dressed, asleep almost before he had made it into bed. The others quickly followed his example. They were fortunate there was no surprise roll call in the middle of that night, because the Germans would have been puzzled by the fact that none of the residents of Barracks Two would have moved a muscle voluntarily—including their fearless leader.

The increased pace of the war had another, very unpleasant effect. Stalag 13 soon grew very crowded, since there were many more Allied prisoners taken by the Germans after D-Day. There were quite a few barracks where men were sleeping two men per bunk. Newkirk told his friends that, save for the Kommandant and most of the guards, conditions were rapidly sinking to the horrific level they had been at when he had first been captured and dragged into the hell-hole that had been Stalag 13. Starvation and disease became the norm. Joe Wilson and Thomas Foster were kept busy treating cases of frostbite, bronchitis and privation related diseases. They lost several men to pneumonia.

And then something happened that changed everything. For the first time, they lost a team member while out on a mission. Hogan and Carter were wounded while out on a milk run. It should have been a simple in and out, blowing up a supply depot. Normally, it would have been a two-man job, but Carter had recently broken his right arm and was in a cast. This meant that Fitz took over as lead on the job, as he was the back-up demolitions man. The explosives they were using were new to Fitz, and since Carter wanted to supervise their use, the three of them worked together. Hogan was with them, because he simply felt better keeping an eye on his men when one of them was injured. The job went off without a hitch, and silently, the men turned back towards camp.

They heard angry German voices, and they hid in a thicket to check out the situation. Several soldiers were questioning a civilian. likely a villager. The young man looked scared but determined. Hogan shook his head at Carter's questioning look. They could not afford to get involved. They had to get back before roll call, and they had no idea what was happening. Hogan whispered, "We'll contact somebody when we get back. Maybe the Underground can put out some feelers, see if they can help." Carter and Fitz both nodded. It was harsh, and it hurt, but it was simple reality-they couldn't always help everyone. They watched as the Germans led the young man to a car and they drove away.

The next instant, several gunshots rang out and Carter dropped to the ground with a pained grunt, Fitz sprawling awkwardly beside him, rolling as he fell. As Hogan reached out for them, a hand grabbed him roughly from behind and jerked him off his feet, hard. Though he felt a shock of severe pain in his left shoulder, adrenaline shot through him and he fought back with everything he had in him, blinded by fury and fear. Hogan's primal survival instincts kicked in. He grappled for his assailant's rifle, and managed to twist it around, and in the next second, the man fell dead at Hogan's feet. _Where had he even come from?_

Hogan stared down at the body, heartsick at the sight of the young man in the Nazi uniform. Hogan did not recognize him, and he figured he must have been heading towards his unit somewhere nearby. _Not much older than Carter_ , he mused. He was stunned when he glanced to his left, expecting to see Fitz caring for Carter. Instead, he was horrified to see Fitz sprawled face-down halfway across an unconscious Carter. Fitz was not moving, and both of his men were covered with blood. Hogan knelt beside them, the pain in his shoulder forgotten. It took only one look for Hogan to realize that Sgt. Walt Fitzimmons, one of his brightest and best, was gone.

Tears of rage and frustration rolled down Hogan's cheeks as he gently moved Fitz away from Carter. He checked Carter over and realized immediately that if he did not get Andrew help right away, he would have another dead man on his hands. There was a wound low down on his side, and it was bleeding profusely. As he tore his undershirt into a makeshift bandage, he buried his emotions. There was no time for mourning. He realized the gunshots would soon bring guards from the camp hunting for the source, and if they were caught, he and Carter were both dead men.

After he had bandaged Carter's side as best he could, Hogan took off his belt and cinched it around the shirt to keep pressure on the wound. He moved Andrew deeper under cover. He then pulled Fitz behind the same thicket and laid him gently next to Carter. He could not yet think of Fitz as just a body. Though Hogan had lost men before, it had never happened during a mission. No matter what, Hogan would see that Fitz was buried in the POW cemetery. He deserved a lot better than that, but for now, it would have to do. At least they were all dressed in civvies tonight, instead of uniforms. That would help if they were caught. Or, at least, he hoped it would.

He stared at the dead Nazi for a moment, pondering the situation. That body was going to be a real problem. And he was not entirely sure what to do with him. His first thought had been to simply strip the body and throw him in the nearby river, but there was too great a chance he would be identified. They would have to get him into the tunnels and figure out how to get rid of him some other way. And then…he got an idea. He grabbed the Nazi under the shoulders and dragged him behind another large bush, into a spot where Fitz would not be seen if the Nazi should be found.

He then turned his attentions back to Carter. He checked his pulse. It was fast and weak. Not good, but not as bad as if he had lost too much blood. He knew from past experience that when a man bled out, his pulse became slow and sluggish. There was no exit wound, and Hogan could only pray that the bullet hadn't hit anything vital and that Joe could get it out in time. Murmuring a silent assurance to Fitz that they would be back to get him, Hogan knelt next to Carter. He looked down at Andrew, whose face was startlingly pale in the moonlight. "Kid, you gotta stop doin' this to me. I am gettin' way too old for this!" He lifted the demolitions expert into his arms, wincing at the incredible pain that shot through his shoulder. His arm did not want to work, but he had no choice. He shifted Andrew's weight to take the pressure off his shoulder as best he could and headed quickly back to camp.

~TBC~

A/N: * The military reservation was established in 1791 on about 28 acres at the tip of Greenleaf Point and had no official designation or name. It was named Washington Barracks In 1901. The post was renamed as Fort Humphreys in 1935. The post was renamed in 1948 to honor Lieutenant General Lesley J. McNair, commander of army ground forces during World War II.

** In the first six months of 1944, more than 1,900 aircraft had passed through two bases in the Azores using the Mid-Atlantic route.

*** The name of Camp Springs Airbase was changed to Andrews Field on 7 February 1945 in honor of Lt. Gen. Frank Andrews. In turn, Andrews Field was designated Andrews Air Force Base on 24 June 1948.


	33. Just Don't Stop

**~June 1964~**

 **The Orphanage**

Hogan, Newkirk, Anton, and Carter huddled together, trying to plan Newkirk's best approach to the camp. "Problem is, guv, we 'ave no idea wot's goin' on over there." Peter looked at Anton. "Is there any kind of clearin' close to the camp? One where I could land that bird?"

Anton nodded. "There is. There's a road leading to the gate about fifty yards from the entrance. Thing is, someone would need to let them know you were coming...get the injured ready to go. There may not be time."

Hogan nodded. "I thought of that. We just have to hope the guys are able to swipe some trucks. Peter, you land, grab only the guys you know for sure will make it to the ship and get back here. Bring Doc D with you. This is gonna have to be fast and dirty. By the time you get back, we'll have the littlest kids ready for you." He looked around doubtfully. "Is there anywhere closer to the orphanage you could land?"

Taffy stepped out of his bedroom just then, having heard his question. "Yes." His eyes were bleak, and his tone was flat. "You can safely land in the garden out back, as it appears the children will no longer have need of it. LeBeau has informed me the ship is position." Silently, he headed out the front door and disappeared down the front steps, heading for the orphans' dormitory. Marie followed him, sparing a quick glance over her shoulder at Hogan.

Newkirk pulled on his jacket and hurried towards the steps. Hogan put his hand on his shoulder. "Look. We're under the gun here. Once you start, just don't stop. Not for anyone. Get those kids on board and move. Got it?" Their eyes met briefly. _Message received._ There was no time to waste. The others watched as he sprinted into the jungle. Hogan could only hope it wasn't the last time he would see his stubborn friend.

Just then, Markham shouted. There were prisoners making their way towards the orphanage. Hogan looked at Carter. "Apparently it's hit the fan." Carter nodded grimly. Taffy returned just then with a large, dirty duffel bag, which he placed on the kitchen table. "You'll be needing these."

Hogan opened the bag and eyed the little Welshman appreciatively. The bag was packed with arms and ammunition….M16s to be precise...all in excellent condition. As Hogan and Anton dug into the bag, they discovered a cache of grenades, which they turned over to Carter who clucked over them like a mother hen.

Hogan turned to Taffy. "Where did you-"

Taffy shook his head with a wry smile. "Remember the rule you always taught us, General?"

Hogan chuckled. "Never ask a question you don't really want the answer to."

Taffy nodded. "That's the one. I buried these under the floorboards in the dormitory years ago. They were in perfect working order back then, but you may want to double check them just in case. I did oil them all and wrap them to keep them from rusting."

Carter looked them over while Hogan and Anton went outside to talk to the men who were arriving at the orphanage. Apparently, they were scattered throughout the jungle, since there had been no time for any sort of planning or organized escape. Much to Hogan's delight, some of the men had somehow gotten their hands on several trucks and were indeed attempting to bring a convoy through the jungle.

Hogan frowned. It would be slow going, and the men would likely not have much protection. He looked at those around him. "So, what do you think? Shall we see about bringing our guys outta there?"

From the steps behind him, Carter grinned, looking for all the world as he had twenty years before. The years seemed to fall away, and his face lit up in a loopy grin. He held an M16 up in one hand and a grenade in the other. "What are we waiting for, boy? Let's go get 'em!"

 **Meanwhile…**

 **Camp 208**

Things had gone berserk in fairly short order. The men had been ordered to line up for a special roll call. The warning to be prepared for anything had flashed through the camp like lightning, as had the news about Major Carter and Anton, as well as the fact that there was a traitor in their midst. Only the men's respect for Lt. Fields kept several of the men from staging a lynching on the spot. Also, the fact was, there was no time.

Fields was half-afraid if they assembled for the roll-call that the commander would simply have all the prisoners shot out of hand. But there had been no time to plan anything...and so they would just have to play it by ear. He turned and looked at the others as they lined up… "Be ready for anything….if you can make it out...do it. Meet at the Orphanage. Pass it on."

A young American soldier Fields did not know very well caught his arm. "Look, if we're gonna get outta here we gotta get through the gates. To do that, we gotta have vehicles. I can hotwire anything they have, and we can use that. Couple friends of mine could do the same." His southern accent, straw colored hair and sunny grin somehow were at odds with the seriousness of the situation.

Fields couldn't help but smile back "In that case, carry on! Get as many trucks and men to the orphanage as you can! What's your name, soldier?"

"Hastings, sir. Sgt. Michael Lee Hastings"

"Okay, Hastings, you are officially in charge of the motor pool! Move out!"

And it made Fields laugh when he heard Hastings holler, "Okay, boys, come on, let's move them puppies outta here!"

Within minutes, men were fighting all over the compound. The guards had been taken completely by surprise. The commandant may have had inside information from the traitor Duffy, but what he did not understand was that once the men got a taste of freedom and defiance, they would not be stopped. Even if it meant their own deaths, they would not go back to being prisoners. They would break out today, or they would die trying.

The turning point in the battle came when Hastings and his men got to the trucks and got three of them started. They managed to drive them pell-mell for the gate, despite the guards shooting at them, attempting to stop them. Men were piling into them the best they could, though some were shot in the attempt. There would be time for mourning later. At the same time, the priority was the living. Therefore, whenever possible, dog tags were gathered from the deceased, so they at least could be given later to their loved ones, and those who took them would try to take note of what had happened.

Roy stayed inside one of the huts with several of the more seriously ill men. He knew they would not survive an escape but would not leave them behind. _Jo, I hope you can forgive me, sweetheart. I can't leave them. I just can't._ He listened to the sounds of the battle raging outside and prayed that the men would find a way to escape. He looked up when a shadow fell across the doorway.

A tall slender dark haired young pilot stood there. He'd seen him around the camp before. Most of the men avoided him because he made the others uncomfortable. He had been in the camp longer than most of the others...and pilots tended to be treated much worse than others by the enemy. No one had ever figured out the reason for this...but it seemed to be true. Yet he never complained. He never really said anything, which tended to spook the other men. Roy could understand how they felt. His large dark eyes looked as if he had seen the tragedies of a thousand worlds...and yet it was impossible to guess his age.

He wore an old navy ball cap, which often found itself at odd angles on his head. The only display of emotion anyone had ever seen from him was the one time the commandant had attempted to take the cap from him. The young lieutenant had broken the commandant's hand for him. He had spent over a month in a tiger cage...but the hat had thereafter stayed on Lt. Murdock's head. Exactly where it belonged.*

 **~TBC~**

A/N: *Murdock tends to show up unannounced here and there throughout my stories. He likes to surprise me. He, of course, belongs to "The A-Team" and Stephen J. Cannell. I am just borrowing him. I will return him relatively unscathed.


	34. Dark Days

**November 1944**

 **Stalag 13**

"Whoever said it's darkest before the dawn oughta 'ave his ruddy teeth kicked in, ya ask me."

LeBeau stared across the table at his friend and nodded as he handed him a steaming mug. "Here, drink this. It is only hot water flavored with the last of the tea, but it will help, mon ami."

They looked up as Thomas Foster stepped out of the colonel's quarters. Immediately, Newkirk was on his feet, as were half the men in the crowded room. "Well, how are they?"

Thomas was solemn. "Wilson is still working on Carter. The colonel is sleeping at the moment. His shoulder is broken."

"What about Carter?" There was something in Foster's voice that worried Newkirk. "Why didn't he take him to the infirmary?"

"Because," Thomas looked Newkirk straight in the eye, "we are so short on supplies, there really isn't much point. There's not much he can do there that he can't do here. We just moved the colonel's table over and slid in the extra cot. They're fine where they are. This way, it'll be easier to keep an eye on them both, and still keep the colonel here. I don't think he wants to be away from the barracks just now."

This was quite a long-winded speech for the normally quiet sergeant, and the others were silent as they sat and took in what he had said. Thomas went to the bunk he now shared with Olsen and tapped the sleeping man on the shoulder. "Shove over, chum." Olsen growled good naturedly, and complied, rolling over, and resumed snoring almost instantly. Olsen was not being callous by sleeping during all of this, he was being practical. Hogan had instituted a sentry system of their own since things had escalated, and he had the men guarding the various tunnel entrances at all times. Olsen had pulled duty that night...and so, he was sleeping in preparation.

Dieter leaned down from the bunk above them and asked Foster the question they all had dreaded, "Do you think he'll make it, Tommy? He looked awful."

Thomas hesitated. "You'll have to talk to Wilson, Gopher. I don't know." He scrubbed a hand tiredly across his face and then looked around at his friends. "I just don't know."

They all jumped when Newkirk slammed his fist into the table. "NO. He is not gonna do this to me now. He does not get to die like this! No bloody way in HELL!" And so saying, he stormed to the tunnel bunk, slapped the mechanism, and nearly dove down the ladder into the silent darkness below. After a few minutes, Taffy stood and quietly followed him.

Thomas may have thought that Hogan was asleep, but he was not. He was very much awake, and very aware of the battle taking place on the cot across from him. He had insisted they move the cot in to make it easier for Joe to access his patient. The chairs and table were now piled on top of his desk to make room. And Hogan could see that Joe Wilson was struggling mightily to save Andrew Carter.

He had two IVs set up...and had given him a pint of blood already...fortunately, there were a number men with 0- blood in Barracks Two. Joe Wilson had reconstructed all the prisoners medical files since the earthquake that had wiped out a good part of the camp.* His meticulous attention to detail was a godsend at times like this. He was able to pick out donors very quickly and get the process moving right away.

The pain from his broken shoulder seemed to fade into the distance as Hogan watched Joe try several times to get a pulse on Carter, and then listen in vain for a heartbeat. He placed his ear directly on Andrew's bare chest. Joe raised despairing eyes to his commander. "I don't hear anything."

He tried everything….to no avail. Finally, Wilson uttered the words he had grown to hate...words he had honestly never thought he would say in connection with the seemingly indestructible young Andrew J. Carter. "I'm sorry, Colonel Hogan. There's nothing more I can do."

Down in the tunnels, Taffy and Newkirk had been talking quietly. Theirs was a odd relationship. It had taken a long time, but gradually, Peter had grown to trust the chaplain. There were very few people the tough Cockney did trust, and even fewer he had opened his heart to. His sister Mavis, his wife Leticia, and the dying man upstairs were the only ones he trusted implicitly. Hogan and Taffy were probably next on the list.

When Taffy had followed Peter down into the tunnels, it was not really to try to talk to him. He knew better. It was merely to be there. Because he knew that if Carter did die, Peter would need him. Need someone to stop the world from ending. Because for Newkirk, a world without Carter would surely end. And Taffy understood that. You could not lose a brother that easily.

Besides, the men were already hurting over the loss of Fitz. He was the first man they had lost on a mission….and that was even worse. They had gone a long time without losing anyone...and now, they could very well lose Carter, too. It was just too much. They were all soldiers, and death and loss were realities they faced every day… but sometimes… it was just too much. And so, Taffy sat in the dark beside Newkirk, took out his cigarettes, handed one to his friend, and they waited, smoking quietly, neither one daring to think too long, or too hard.

Suddenly Peter's head came up sharply, and he bolted up off the barrel he was seated on. He yelled "NO!" and darted from the room.

Taffy looked up in alarm and followed him back up to the barracks. He was just in time to see Peter practically shoulder his way into Col. Hogan's quarters.

Wilson and Hogan were both startled when Newkirk burst into the room, especially when Newkirk screamed at Wilson who was in the process of pulling a sheet over Carter's face.

"Get your 'ands offa him!"

Hogan was standing near the door and wrapped his good arm around Newkirk awkwardly but firmly. "Stop it, Peter!"

"He ain't dead! Sir, he ain't dead! Wilson, don't give up-Please!"

The medical officer looked over at Hogan, who looked down at the young man who had given so much for all of them… He looked back at Wilson. "Is there anything? Any chance at all?"

Wilson hesitated. "Maybe…"

 **~TBC~**

A/N: *Reference to my story "Earthquake." * This chapter is for M. Vernet. Thanks for being such a loyal reader and reviewer, who once asked me when Joe Wilson was asked a particular question ...I could not do it without you!


	35. Moving Out

**~June 1964~**

 **Camp 208**

"Chopper coming. Ours"

Roy was startled by the soft but confident tone. He had been checking the pulse of one of the men when Lt. Murdock stepped out of the doorway and joined him, kneeling on the floor.

Roy was confused. "There haven't been any choppers over this way in weeks."

Murdock shrugged and stepped to the doorway, peering out. He looked back at Roy. "Looks like he's gonna land just outside the gates. We need to get these boys to him. It's a cinch we're all they've got. Most everyone else is busy trying to get out."

With a strength and agility completely at odds with his slight frame, Murdock easily lifted the nearest man into his arms and ran for the helicopter that had now settled uneasily on the other side of the smashed gates. Gunfire pelted all around the man, but he seemed oblivious to it. Roy had no more time to contemplate what was happening outside as he got his patients ready for transport. Flt. Lt. Fields suddenly appeared next to him, his face bleeding from what looked like a bullet crease across his forehead.

Automatically, Roy started to blot it with one of the few clean rags he had left, but Fields shook his head. "No time, Doc!" He grinned and reached down, pulling the next man in line into his arms and ran out the door with him towards the chopper. He was nearly there when more gunshots rang out, and he stumbled. Roy cursed as several things happened all at once. Murdock tumbled from the helicopter with an M-16 in his hands, rapidly and accurately returning fire. He rolled over and then pushed Fields into the helicopter where someone, likely the pilot, pulled him inside. Murdock then picked the fallen patient up and boosted him into the chopper, again with the help of the other man. Now armed, Murdock ran back to the hut, intent on retrieving the last patient.

He handed the rifle over to Roy. "Here. Shoot to kill. Don't hesitate. Let's go."

He picked up the last man, mindful of the bandages covering the man's midsection. They ran as fast as they could, Roy slightly ahead of Murdock. He reached the chopper and jumped on board, reaching for the man in Murdock's arms, taking him carefully, but quickly. He went to grab Murdock's arm, but the man shook his head. "Toss me the rifle!"

Confused, Roy did, and Murdock grinned, a sad, weary expression in his eyes that Roy would never forget. Murdock raised his voice, hollering to the pilot. "Get outta here, man! Go! See ya on the other side!" The pilot raised his fist in acknowledgement… and a few harrowing moments later, they were airborne.

 **~HH~**

Murdock had a score to settle…a very personal score. He had been in Vietnam for a long time…this was only his first tour of duty, but it had been extended several times, so that counting his time in the POW camp, he had nearly two years in country. He was also not just a regular soldier…but that was a very deeply kept secret. In fact, he was keeping secrets on two levels…but only one was known to his government. He emphatically did not care to end up becoming a government lab rat, so he kept his deepest secret to himself. But those secrets were what would now allow him to finally take the commandant of Camp 208 out of the game permanently. He had not been able to do anything until the camp was evacuated. But now…as long as Dao was still in camp…

 **~HH~**

Roy knelt on the floor of the helicopter and quickly patched the hole in Lt. Field's leg. It didn't help that the chopper was pitching and bucking as Newkirk was struggling playing dodge ball with rifle fire and anti-aircraft emplacements. Peter knew the bouncing wasn't good for his wounded passengers, but he really didn't have time to worry about it. Some of the rounds pinged off the fuselage of the chopper. He wished to hell the soldier that had been firing the M16 earlier had stayed with them. He hadn't seen shooting like that in a long time. One or two rounds broke through the plexiglass of the windshield and he cursed under his breath when a round bounced off his helmet, causing his head to slam backwards. He saw stars for a moment and shook his head as his vision cleared… _sort of. He ignored the headache that suddenly cropped up._ He had no time for it.

He turned to the medic and yelled to him, "Hey, Doc, c'mere!"

Mystified by the request, Roy scooted forward "What is it?"

The pilot grabbed the M-16 from where it was racked next to him and handed it to Roy. "Take this and see what you can do about eliminatin' some of the small arms fire that's giving us all the heartburn. It's not much, but we're low enough you should be able to take out a few of 'em, anyway.

Roy took the rifle, understanding what he had to do. He hated it, but he understood it. He began to fire at the source of the tracers, clearing their path, and Newkirk was relieved when the storm of bullets eased up somewhat. He hollered back to the medic, "Good shootin', mate!"

Roy couldn't bring himself to answer.

 **~HH~**

Murdock stole quietly into the shadowy remains of the concrete building that until recently had been the office of the commandant of the camp. It looked as if a bomb had gone off inside. He wasn't sure one hadn't. His senses were on high alert. He came across the bodies of several of the guards. He knew he had to hurry if he wanted to get to the dust-off point on the coast. But even if he missed it, he would not miss his target. Two minutes later, he found it. Though he was by specialty a pilot, he was also a trained sniper, and this was one shot he had no intention of missing. _He took careful aim and fired._

Just before he left the room, Murdock surveyed the scene one final time. The traitor Duffy lay sprawled at the Commandant's feet, a bullet through his forehead _. Apparently, Dao had little use for traitors, either_ , Murdock thought sardonically. Dao lay there also, a look of supreme consternation on _his_ face. He had never seen death coming, nor the bullet which ended his sorry existence. For just a moment, Murdock stared at the little martinet, and then he turned and jogged away into the jungle. He knew the rendezvous was at the orphanage and he figured if he legged it, he just might be able to make it. Especially since he knew a few shortcuts…

 **~HH~**

 **The Orphanage**

The team back at the orphanage had their share of drama while Newkirk had been gone. They were kept busy with the new arrivals from the camp. But all in all, things were shaping up nicely. Tiger decided she would have another shot at talking Taffy into coming with them to the ship, but he was just as determined he was going to stay. Finally, Andrew suggested a cup of tea might settle nerves all around, and he offered to fix some, though only Taffy accepted the offer. Taffy settled in with his, seated at the kitchen table. Andrew fixed himself a cup of coffee from the supply they had brought with them.

They were all shocked when after a few sips, Taffy's eyes suddenly became unfocused, and his head dropped heavily to the table. The truth hit them all at the same time. Hogan checked the tea. Andrew had inadvertently given Taffy the drugged batch. Anton smirked at the look on Andrew's face. "Well," he looked at his father, "looks like it won't be so hard to get him to go with us after all. He'll be out for at least eight hours." Hogan could only nod ruefully.

 **~HH~**

Newkirk was grateful that the gunfire eased off as they neared the orphanage. He grinned happily and called over his shoulder to the medic, who was busy tending to his patients. "Piece o' cake, mate!"

Newkirk really should have known better. His vision doubled at about the same time the ground loomed up in front of him. Suddenly, he couldn't tell which way was up, and the world went black.

 **~HH~**

Hogan and the others were ranged around the yard of the orphanage as they watched Newkirk descending towards the garden. Hogan knew they were in trouble immediately but had no clue why. They came in too fast and hit the ground at a slight angle. There was a crashing sound as the chopper settled onto its skids. About the same time a man in a ragged uniform and a blue ball cap ran from the edge of the jungle and yanked open the door and clambered aboard.

They all ran towards the chopper, and helped the unknown man begin offloading the passengers. Helping him was a soldier very familiar to Carter, a medic who was kneeling on the floor of the chopper, obviously in pain himself and valiantly trying to hide it. That he was a medic was not so much obvious from his uniform but from his actions. He seemed to be trying to care for everyone in the chopper at once. He had one hand over a hole in one man's leg, the other across another man's belly.

Roy looked up as Carter stared at him in shock. "Doc, what happened?"

The medic could only shake his head slightly, and Carter realized in horror that his jaw was broken. Hogan and Carter, who had some rudimentary medical field training during OCS, jumped aboard the chopper and began assessing the patients, doing what they could. Carter tried to pull Roy away to help him, but Roy shook him off. He had patients to treat. They came first. No one fought him, because they understood. The most he would allow was for Carter to wrap his jaw. Immediately, Roy went back to his patients. They set up a sort of triage area right there in the garden, with some of the escaped POWs providing covering fire should it be needed. Things got dicey for a while, with Hogan removing a couple of bullets, and Carter cauterizing a few wounds.

In the meantime, Murdock had checked the chopper and found that despite the rough landing, the chopper was airworthy. They would only need an airworthy pilot, considering their previous pilot had been knocked cold by an apparent blow to the head from a large caliber bullet hitting his flight helmet. If he hadn't been wearing it, it probably would have torn his head from his shoulders altogether. According to DeSoto, he would likely be fine, but would probably not be conscious for at least six to eight hours.

At this declaration, Murdock grinned loopily and arched his eyebrows. "Looks like you folks are in luck. I just renewed my pilot's license with Vietnam Air yesterday. Pre-flight checks will be undertaken immediately, and pre-boarding will take place in precisely 27 minutes. Please check your boarding passes and make sure your luggage is checked properly. Your flight crew will see to all your needs in good time. God speed, gentlemen." The previous speech was given all in one breath and in a perfect, clipped British accent. Once delivered, Murdock wheeled around and walked quickly away.

~HH~

Tiger was unsure what to make of the tall raggedy pilot. She was not at all sure she wanted to trust him with the children but knew there was little choice and virtually no time. She watched as they finished loading the wounded men, including Newkirk back into the chopper. They also tucked Taffy aboard, along with a hastily packed duffel. She had been told the trucks, one of which was a halftrack and was therefore pushing ahead of the others would soon be breaking a path through to them.

Tiger went into the house to gather her few items together into her pack. She came back out and was startled to hear the children giggling. She looked over and saw that the pilot, Murdock, was seated on the ground, with the children all around him. Two of the little girls had claimed spots on his lap. He seemed to be telling them some sort of story, using his glove as a puppet. His face was alight with… _almost an inner glow._ Despite her misgivings, she was intrigued, and quietly she stepped closer.

She was startled when she found she was not the only one watching. Things had calmed down slightly, and Hogan had been able to step away from the controlled chaos around the chopper. They would be pulling out soon, but for the next few minutes, a relative calm fell over the area. He took advantage of the moment and stole up behind Tiger and slipped his arm around her as she watched the children. He was surprised to hear the pilot who had helped them with Newkirk and the others telling the kids a story in their native Vietnamese. * He spoke it fluently and easily…as easily as any native. His face was animated, and his hands flew…one glove serving as a puppet. And the children dissolved into peals of laughter. Hogan noticed he easily switched between Vietnamese and French, which the children also spoke. Hogan watched the lieutenant a few moments longer trying to get a read on him. _Who IS this guy?_

 **~TBC~**

A/N: This is canon. In the A-Team episode "Sound of Thunder," Murdock is the only team member who spoke to Morrison's daughter in her native language.


	36. Life and Death

**~November 1944~**

 **Stalag 13**

Wilson motioned for the others to stand back as he dropped the sheet. He remembered something he had seen demonstrated in medical school. "It may be too late," he muttered. He brought his fists together and down sharply on the middle of Carter's chest and began pushing rhythmically with both hands. Both Hogan and Newkirk stared in confusion but said nothing.

Several minutes went by, with no sound but the tense efforts of the medic. Suddenly, Carter's body seemed to heave, and he gasped for air. He began to breathe raggedly, though he remained unconscious. Wilson turned to Newkirk. "Hand me that oxygen mask, quick!"

Newkirk did, retrieving the mask that Wilson had removed from Carter only a short time before. Wilson placed it carefully around his face and adjusted the flow. Hogan and Newkirk turned anxious eyes on the medic. Hogan spoke first. "Well, Doc?"

Wilson, who was sweating profusely, grabbed a towel off the end of his commander's bunk, and wiping his face, smiled tiredly. "If he wakes up in the next few hours, I think he'll be alright. He lost a lot of blood, but we have enough donors, we should be able to keep him going. I think it was just too much for his body."

Hogan looked at him. "What was that you did to him?"

"External heart massage. It's been around since just after the turn of the century. * Sometimes with someone whose heart has stopped, you can start it again." He saw the accusatory looks that flitted across both Hogan and Newkirk's faces. He held up his hand to stave off the protests he knew were coming. "You're gonna ask why I didn't try it with Kinch. Look. I was right here when Carter's heart stopped. That was not the case with Kinch. I wasn't even sure what was happening when I got there. Too much time had gone by. For external heart massage to work, it has to be applied within just a few minutes at the longest. I wish I could've…you know I would've, fellas."

To Joe's relief, he could see both men's expressions clear immediately. They understood. And they trusted him. Joe may not have his medical degree…but he was the best damned doctor they knew.

 **~HH~**

Newkirk pushed through the door into the main room. The others were startled by his jubilant expression. "'e's gonna be alright! Carter's gonna be okay!"

There were grins and cheers all around, even as Wilson came out the door behind Newkirk. The men quieted down as the medic held up his hand. "Look, he's still in pretty rough shape. Yes, he should be alright. That is, providing he wakes up sometime within the next six hours or so. He lost a lot of blood, but we can work with that. As long as the wound doesn't get infected, things will be okay. He's tough. We all know that. What he really needs is good food, and penicillin, both of which are in very short supply. I'll do my best." He turned to Taffy, who was standing off to the side. "I think this is where we could really use some of your expertise."

Taffy nodded solemnly. And he walked to the center of the barracks and bowed his head and closed his eyes. One by one, all the men, Newkirk, Hogan and Wilson included, joined them.

 **~HH~**

Hogan sat at the table with the others. They were quiet. The problem was that they were nearly three hours past the time frame Wilson had given them, and Carter, though his breathing was even and his heartbeat strong and steady, had not awakened. Wilson could not explain it. He came out once and tried. "It sometimes happens this way. There is simply no way to predict it."

Newkirk frowned. "So what are you sayin?"

Joe sighed. He really had hoped it wouldn't come to this. "He could stay this way indefinitely."

A shocked silence filled the room as the men considered his words.

And then Newkirk stood and shook his head. "No. Not bloody likely."

He walked across the room and straight into Colonel Hogan's quarters. And the men were all startled when Newkirk roared, "Alright Carter, that's enough! Get outta that bed! You're not leavin' me, you hear me? You die, and I will kill you!"

One of the newer transfers, who happened to be sharing a bunk with LeBeau snickered. Saunders had not proved to be terribly popular anyway, since most of the men were fed up with his bigotry and nastiness. In fact, he and Baker had gone a couple of rounds in recent weeks. There was no possibility of getting him transferred out with the overcrowding of all the camps in the area. Newkirk had already promised to take care of the problem if he gave anyone much more grief.

LeBeau stared at Saunders for a moment. "There is something funny to you?"

Saunders glared back and then switched his gaze to the half-open door. "Just watching those two makes you think they must have a thing going on the side."

It was exactly the wrong thing to say, and he never saw the right cross that knocked him out of the bunk and onto the floor. It was probably a good thing it was LeBeau that hit him, and that Newkirk had not heard him. Hogan's reaction was swift and decisive. He smacked the tunnel bunk and dumped the unconscious man down into the tunnel. His eyes were blazing. He looked at Baker and Olsen. "Get him out of here. Put him in one of the other barracks. I don't care how you do it…just do it." The two men nodded and disappeared into the tunnel.

 **~HH~**

They were back in less than an hour, sans Saunders. Baker looked at Hogan. "We unloaded him on Barracks 12." Hogan nodded brusquely. "Good. Tennyson will know what to do with him." The Barracks Chief in 12 was tough and would brook no nonsense. He was a rather large Australian whose mother was Samoan…and Tennyson despised bigots.

Baker grinned at the look on Hogan's face. "Yeah. What we figured."

Newkirk was still in with Carter, who was still out. Hogan had devised a plan, of sorts, to hide the Nazi whose body they had retrieved from the woods, and they needed to bury Fitz. Both had been brought down into the tunnel during the night, but they could not leave them there… at least…they would not leave Fitz there. As much as he hated the thought, they would bury him tonight in an unmarked grave in the POW cemetery. As for the Nazi…well. He would also be buried, but it would be with a good deal less ceremony, and there was a chance that someday, someone would find the body, and wonder…but they would just have to hope that no one discovered him before the war was over and they were all safely home.

He peeked in on Newkirk and Carter. Newkirk was sitting disconsolately on the bottom bunk staring at his friend. Hogan hated to pull him away, but he needed every hand he could get on this. "Newkirk, look, Wilson will keep an eye on him. I need you and the guys for a little while."

Newkirk nodded, though Hogan could tell he wanted to protest. They made their way to the table, and Hogan filled them in on his idea. It was telling that Newkirk never even lodged a protest at the sheer audacity of the plan. He never even said a word, simply nodding at appropriate moments. It was LeBeau who questioned the sanity of the idea. "Do you think it's safe, trying to tunnel over to Carter's old lab?"

Hogan considered the question. "Maybe not, but it's a risk we have to take. It's one of the tunnels the Germans already know about. They have no reason to search there. We tunnel in, put the body in there, fill it in, and get out."

Baker nodded. "Yes, sir. But tunneling in there is gonna take days. Maybe a week. And filling it in again? Another week."

"Not if you use small directional charges. I could make some up for you. Easy as pie." Andrew stood shakily leaning on the doorframe. For a moment they were all frozen in shock. In the next instant, Peter had gathered Carter into his arms, cussing him up one wall and down the other.

 **~TBC~**

 **A/N:** * External heart massage was performed successfully clear back in the mid-1800's but documented techniques such as the one used by Wilson were being used routinely as early as 1904.


	37. On the Trail

**June 1964**

 **Aboard the Celeste Marie**

 **Off the Vietnamese Coast**

Andy, Yvette, Pete and Jamie stood on the deck of the ship. They had mostly obeyed LeBeau's orders to stay belowdecks, but now that they had finally arrived, they were anxious to see what the area was like, and to get some fresh air. They had kept busy preparing the supplies and the areas they would need for treating and housing the escaped prisoners. They had been fascinated watching the helicopter crews prepare their craft for their mission. They were well-trained and very efficient. Louis had told them that some of the mercenaries he had hired would be going along to protect the crews as well as help with loading the men.

The boys were going to be part of the dust-off crews. Yvette had flatly lost her bid to go along, on two fronts. Louis had threatened to lock her in the ship's brig. He was serious about the matter, and she wasn't sure he wouldn't do it. However, Andy took her for a long walk around the deck after dinner the night before they arrived in the bay, and Yvette was very quiet after they returned. She went to her father, and told him she understood, and would not try to go ashore. She bid them all good night and went straight to her cabin.

The boys spent the evening finishing their preparations for the dust-off. When Pete asked him how he had changed Yvette's mind about going with then, Andy shrugged. "I just explained reality to her."

Pete frowned a moment and Andy smiled grimly. "I told her what could happen to her if she got taken prisoner."

No more explanation was needed.

 **~HH~**

 **June 1964**

 **The Orphanage**

Murdock's eyes were bright as his hands flew over the chopper's controls. The bullet hole in the right side of the windshield seemed not to bother him at all…he was used to them. He had learned to compensate for cracked plexiglass a long time ago. _He did feel bad for the pilot,_ _though Murdock supposed the guy was lucky he still had a head to have a headache with…_

He shook the rather bizarre train of thought away and looked back to check on his passengers. They had finished loading everyone. The children were wide-eyed and completely silent, as he knew they would be. He looked into the eyes of the little girl closest to him and held out his hand to her. The tears running down her cheeks broke his heart.

Softly, he spoke. _"Nó sẽ ổn thôi. Bạn sẽ được an toàn sớm, tôi hứa. Đừng khóc nữa em gái."_

He smiled when she nodded slightly and buried her face into Tiger's shoulder. The French spy, who had agreed to come along to help with the girls, looked at Murdock. "What did you say to her?"

He shrugged. "I told her, 'It's going to be fine, little one. You'll be safe soon, I promise. Don't cry anymore little sister.'" His eyes grew dark and sad. "I just hope to God I didn't add to all the lies she's been told all her life."

With that, he turned away from her and went back to readying them for takeoff.

 **~HH~**

Markham shouted when he saw the half-track break through the far edge of the jungle, though it was not strictly necessary. The noise the vehicles were making heralded their arrival, anyway. Apparently, the enemy had decided they didn't like the odds at the moment and had cleared out.

 _More likely,_ Hogan thought darkly, _they were gathering themselves for an attack somewhere closer to the beach._ But for the moment, their small convoy was unopposed, and the group at the orphanage climbed into and onto the trucks where there was room and hiked next to them when there was no more room.

Anton had made sure his mother was safely on board the helicopter and taken a place hiking near his father and Carter. He was still getting used to the idea of having a father, and he was not sure how he was supposed to feel. He admired Hogan…as a leader and all that. He enjoyed talking with him and being around him. He respected him…but as a father? _The jury was definitely out on that one._

He watched the way Hogan's men acted around him. Especially Major Carter. It was odd. Because despite the age difference between himself and the major, Carter acted more like a son to Hogan than anything. In some ways, Newkirk treated Hogan like a brother, and yet there was something…a rift, something Anton couldn't quite figure out…between them. Unfortunately, he didn't know either of them well enough to know what it could possibly be.

Taffy sometimes seemed more like an elder statesman, though in reality, he was not much older than Hogan. It was just something in his manner and demeanor. Obviously, the experiences these men had shared back at Stalag 13 had bonded them in a way that Anton would never be able to understand. Anton glanced over at Major Carter as they marched along the trail carved out by the trucks. The man had to be in considerable pain, but you would never know it.

The major was a study in contradictions. There were moments where he seemed like the loopy, carefree boy his mother told stories about from her days with the Underground. There were others where he could seem like a cold-blooded killer if he had to. The man had fooled everyone, including the Germans with his incredible acting skills.

No one had any idea that he was one of three of the deepest cover spies in Germany during WW2. That number included the famous Nimrod, another certain German officer and Major Carter, who at the time, of course, was a tech sergeant. There were others who were not exactly what they were pretending to be… _but, then again, wasn't that always the case?_

Anton heard the sound of a helicopter overhead and realized the chopper had made it safely out of the garden. He grimaced as he thought about the dangers they all faced. It was going to be a long trip to the beach. It was not that far in miles, but they were in danger the whole way. He looked over at his father. The man stood straight and tall, every inch a general. He was obviously in his element. If anyone could get them out, it was this man. Suddenly, Anton smiled. _Yeah. His father could do it._

 **~HH~**

 **Aboard the Celeste Marie**

 **Off the Vietnamese Coast**

Louis LeBeau was a very wealthy man, and a very intelligent one. He also wished to live to be an _old_ wealthy man. Therefore he felt it prudent to take some precautions. He had hired a small expeditionary force to escort his ship into the harbor. The force consisted of three small boats and a squad of extremely skilled and tough mercenaries. Naturally, and not unexpectedly, the United States Army took exception to their presence and sent a patrol to initiate contact. This patrol was led by a rather surly captain. After LeBeau reluctantly granted permission for the party to board, he found himself face-to-face with a tall, reddish-blond haired man who reminded him of a cinema cowboy. The man smirked and introduced himself. "I'm Captain John Smith, though friends call me 'Hannibal.' You the captain of this boat?"

LeBeau stared at the man for a moment. "Yes. I am. We are here on a rescue mission. It has been fully sanctioned by your government _. (Okay, LeBeau was not above exaggerating a little when it suited his purposes.)_ I want no interference from your superiors. There are a number of POWs who are escaping from a Viet Cong prison camp even as we speak. I am going to bring them from here to Tokyo. What happens to them from there is up to their governments. But I promise you, I will be watching. Any one that needs asylum in my homeland, I will arrange for it. I am not without influence, and I will not hesitate to use that influence."

Smith held up a hand. "Look, pal. I am not here to fight with you. I am just here to make sure you aren't pulling any funny business. We got word about your operation a few hours ago. We were also told to cooperate to the extent that we could…which just means we aren't to interfere…but we aren't supposed to help either."

LeBeau frowned at the captain as the man pulled out a cigar and lit it. "What does that mean, then? You would just watch your countrymen be attacked and do nothing?"

Smith grinned around the cigar. "Nope. Just means that's the _orders_. Now how about you introduce me to this bunch of mercenaries you got workin' for you?" He flashed his canary-eating grin again. "After all, the more the merrier, right?"

Suddenly, this audacious captain reminded LeBeau very much of a certain tall, dark-haired colonel in a crush cap and bomber jacket. Louis smiled _. I hope they will get a chance to meet. I think they would like each other._ Aloud he said, "Are you not worried what your superiors will say?"

The captain shrugged. "Not really. My orders are to make sure you get out of this harbor. That's what I'm gonna do. The orders said nothing about your cargo." He grinned again. "If they ask about it, I'll just tell 'em we got you and your cargo headed for Tokyo. No sweat."

LeBeau shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Come along, captain…"

 **~TBC~**

 **A/N:** Okay, once Murdock showed up, could Hannibal be far behind? It's too early for Face and B. A. though…seeing as the guys are not a team yet. Sorry.


	38. Past and Present

**A/N:** This chapter marks a departure, in that it contains both timelines…They are separate and clearly marked.

 **November 1944**

 **Stalag 13**

Carter shoved Newkirk back, though he nearly lost his balance in the process. "I'm fine, Peter, relax!"

Predictably, Newkirk exploded. "Fine! Like hell! You _died_ on us you idiot! You were bleedin' like a stuck pig! Your bloody heart stopped!" He turned to face the others in the barracks. "Fine, he says!"

The others couldn't help but chuckle…both at the confusion on Carter's face, and at the passionate display of righteous indignation from their volatile Englishman.

Behind Newkirk, Carter had begun to sway on his feet, and it was Wilson who caught him before he fell. His rant forgotten, Peter helped the medic put Andrew back to bed on the cot, and Wilson re-established the IVs he had torn loose getting out of bed and sternly forbade him from moving for at least 48 hours—although Joe sincerely—and accurately—doubted the boy would stay down for longer than two or three. There was just too much to do and too little time.

Three hours later, Carter sat cross-legged on his bunk going through the things that had been in his friend Walt Fitzsimmons footlocker. In deference to Wilson, he still had an IV running into one arm, the bottle hanging from the top of Newkirk's bunk. He was sorting Fitz's things out and packing them so that Colonel Hogan could send them back to his widow as soon as they could. There wasn't a whole lot. His wedding ring, his dog tags, a couple of paperback novels, a few letters, and some other odds and ends. And then, Carter found the photograph.

"Hey, did you guys know Fitz had a kid?"

The others shook their heads. Fitz didn't talk much about home. Didn't talk much about anything. Which was probably because Carter did enough talking for the both of them. He had been one of the quietest members of Barracks Two. Carter held up the photo of Fitz in his dress uniform holding a little boy of about two or so on his hip, Fitz looking as if he could take on the world single-handedly. Andrew turned the photo over. "Kid's name is Johnny. He was two when this was taken." He looked around at the others. "Says it was taken the day he shipped over here." _Carter's heart broke for Walt, for his wife, and for the little boy in the photo._

It was very quiet in the barracks for a very long time.

 **~HH~**

 **June 1964**

 **Dust-Off Point**

 **North Vietnam**

The prisoners made it out of the jungle and to the beach in nearly record time. Hogan began to think that he had it wrong. And that bothered him, because he knew there was no way the enemy was going to just let that many prisoners walk away scot-free. He had radioed LeBeau to send the choppers, and he could hear them arriving just before the trucks broke out of the canopy.

And that was when all hell broke loose. There was scattered gunfire from the trees and the men were quick to return fire. The fight grew frenzied, because there was no way any of the prisoners were going to allow themselves to be recaptured. On board the helicopter containing the orphans, things were particularly chaotic, though the children were not panicked. They seemed merely resigned to whatever happened.

If Murdock had had time, he could have told the others he was not surprised at their attitude. But as it was, it was all he could do to keep them in the air. He finally reached the beach and relative safety as the gunners on the other ships opened fire on the enemy ground troops. He wanted to stay and help, but he knew his first priorities were the children and the wounded, and so he headed straight for the hospital ship.

 **~HH~**

 **Deck of the Celeste Marie**

Murdock landed and was happy to see that the crew was well organized and ready for them. The chopper was emptied quickly and efficiently. Off to one side, he watched a pretty dark-haired young woman threw her arms around a tall young blond soldier. Of course, he couldn't hear what the two said, but the passionate kiss they shared just before he ran towards Murdock's ship wasn't hard to read at all. Murdock smiled. _Love was a good thing…kept you on your toes._

He also watched as an Army captain dispersed his men amongst the rescue choppers and then jumped onto his chopper, his rifle at the ready. Two gunners piled on behind him and took their places by the doors. He was used to commanding officers who led their men into harm's way, and then stood well out of danger themselves. Apparently, this man was not cut from that particular cloth. It took only the man's introduction to explain it. His piercing blue eyes met Murdock's own brown eyes briefly. "I'm Captain Hannibal Smith. We need to get our guys off the beach."

Murdock nodded. Smith's reputation was well known theatre-wide. And Murdock felt a helluva lot better about their chances. Because if you asked anyone who had worked with the captain, they would tell you the same thing. _"Smith? I'd follow that man into Hell if you asked me."_

The blond soldier jumped in with them and introduced himself as well. He was wearing BDUs and carried an M-16. "I'm Cadet Andy Carter, West Point."

Murdock cocked his head and regarded the younger man carefully. _Obviously, somebody had pulled some strings for the kid to be here._ "You look exactly like your father."

Andy's eyes lit up. "You've seen him, then? Is he alright?"

Murdock grinned. "He'll do. He's on his way to the beach with the others. He was navigating under his own power last I saw him. You should see him soon."

Andy smiled. "Thanks, Lieutenant!"

Captain Smith looked at the pilot. "Lets get this bird off the ground!"

Murdock nodded, and they lifted off the deck of the ship, headed towards the shore. Sure enough, In just a few minutes, they heard the exchange of gunfire from the narrow strip of beach.

 **~HH~**

The men on the beach were engaged in a fight for their lives. Fortunately, the M-16s they had gotten from Taffy coupled with the three trucks they had liberated from the camp combined to save their lives. On top of this, Andrew was making very good use of the pile of grenades he had stockpiled. Altogether, they had mounted a fairly decent defense, but they were all happy when they heard the choppers coming. It wasn't long before they had some very welcome air support as the door gunners on board the helicopters joined in the fight.

The exchange of gunfire was heated, but the choppers managed to land and pick up the men in the midst of the fight. The big gunships took as many as possible and took off for the ship, making the trips as quickly as they could. There were a number of the soldiers who had come on that first trip who stayed behind to lay covering fire for the escaping POWs. There were quite a few POWs who wanted to stay behind and fight, but Hogan insisted they all get to the ship. Hannibal stayed on the door of the gunship, with Andy Carter handling the other door gun. It turned out they made an extremely accurate team. They had made several trips to the ship before Andy finally found his father.

Andrew had finally exhausted his supply of grenades. All of the POWs had been evacuated and most of the other men had left the beach. Charlie was only making scattered attempts at firing at the helicopters. The last of the men climbed into the two other remaining helicopters and headed for the ship. They were the last ones left. As Murdock lifted off, Andrew lobbed his last round of grenades at the three trucks, and a tremendous explosion rocked the beach. It was a spectacular sight and would have been a fitting end to the mission, except for the stray shrapnel that flew up and smacked Captain Smith in the head, nearly knocking him from his perch at the open doorway.

As it was, Andrew grabbed him, and pulled him into the chopper, barely keeping him from falling out. Andrew pulled the helmet from his head, quickly assessing the bleeding wound. Fortunately, it was only a crease, and he was able stop the bleeding by using the gauze padding and bandages Andy handed him from the first aid kit. He looked up to thank him, and for the first time realized who had handed him the items. He smiled at his son. "Thanks for coming to get me, kiddo."

Andy grinned. "No problem, Pops."

A moment later, Andrew frowned when he realized that something had fallen out of Hannibal's helmet. He reached out and picked it up. It was an old photograph. And Andrew instantly realized he had seen it before. He looked intently at the semi-conscious captain and then back at the photo.

Hannibal stirred, opened his eyes, and squinted painfully at Carter. His eyes widened when he saw the photo in Carter's hand. "Please, be careful with that. It belonged to my dad. It's the only thing I have left of him."

Carter paled. Memories of another war in another place hit him like a ton of bricks. He had never forgotten that picture, nor Walt's son. Without turning it over, without ever seeing the back, he blurted out, "Oh, my God! You're Johnny Fitzsimmons!"

 **~TBC~**


	39. By Any Other Name

Hannibal Smith frowned. "How could you know that? I haven't used that name since I was sixteen years old!"

Andrew Carter shook his head. "I've seen this picture before. I knew your father. In Germany."

Hannibal's eyes widened, and he flinched at the pain the movement caused. "You knew my dad?"

Carter worked on his head wound as they talked. It wasn't terribly serious, but like all head wounds, bled profusely.

"I did. He was a good friend of mine. We worked together for quite a while. He helped save a lot of lives, mine included."

Hannibal frowned. I thought he was on a bomber crew that got shot down. Got killed."

Carter smiled sadly. "Well, he did get shot down. But he didn't get killed, at least not right away. There's a lot I can't tell you about what we did, but he was a part of something really special, and helped save a lot of Allied lives, and civilians too, for that matter. He was quite a guy."

"What happened to him?"

A troubled expression came over Carter. "I don't know exactly, because I was badly wounded in the same attack that killed your dad, but I do know the last thing I remember was his pulling me down. I had broken my arm, and so he was taking the lead on setting up some explosive charges. He was good. One of the best students I ever had."

"Students? Explosives?" Smith was confused. "I thought he was just on a bomber crew."

Carter finished winding gauze around Hannibal's head. "He was. Until he got sent to Stalag 13 and met Colonel Hogan. That place was something of a gamechanger and so was the colonel. A lot of things changed because of Stalag 13."

Hannibal started to reach for his rifle. Carter stopped him. "No you don't. Last thing we need is for that head wound to start bleeding again. You lie back. I couldn't stitch it properly here. I could cauterize it, but we're close enough to the ship, I would rather have a doctor stitch it." As he cleaned up the supplies he had used, a thought came to him. "Do you mind if I ask why you don't use your dad's name? You seem like you care a lot about him."

Hannibal's eyes clouded a bit. "I don't think he'd be very proud of me is all. Wouldn't want me carrying his name."

Andrew frowned. "Why not?"

"Because when I was sixteen, I let my dad down. Really badly. Like, unforgivably badly. That's when I changed it." *

"What happened? What did you do?"

"I let my little brother die." The admission was bleak, and Hannibal's voice was flat.

Carter was silent as he did the math. Obviously, the child in question couldn't have been Walt's child, so this was a step-brother. "Your mom re-married?" he guessed.

"Yeah, and it didn't work out so well. I loved my brother though. He was a good kid. Didn't deserve what happened, and I couldn't stop it."

Carter was not stupid. "Couldn't stop what happened to you either."

Hannibal shrugged. "No, but I was older, could handle it better. But I should have been able to protect him, and I couldn't."

Understanding dawned. "You changed your name because you felt your dad would be ashamed of you."

Hannibal nodded miserably.

"You didn't have to do that, you know. You could never have done anything to make Fitz ashamed of you. He carried that same picture of you everywhere with him. Even had Colonel Hogan sketch a picture of you for him. Kept it above his bunk all the time. It got messed up in a rainstorm, or he would have sent it to your mom with the rest of his stuff." Carter thought back, remembered that pastel picture. He was still ashamed he had never asked Fitz about it. Never known about his son till after Fitz was gone.

Hannibal was quiet for a long time. "You really think he would have understood? About Larry, I mean?"

Carter nodded. "I _know_ he would have. But I also know you have built a strong name… a good reputation with the name John "Hannibal" Smith, and that's just as important. It's not so much what your name is, Johnny. It's who you _are_. And you are your father's son. Always have been, always will be.

Their conversation was interrupted as gunfire broke out again. Carter grabbed his gun and once again warned Hannibal against moving. "There's enough guns here to handle this. We'll be fine. Stay put."

Only the fact that Carter outranked him kept the irascible captain lying propped against the bulkhead of the chopper, but he kept his rifle in his hands regardless. If things went south, he was _not_ going out lying on his butt unarmed.

 **~HH~**

The chopper bucked and bounced as Murdock used every trick he knew to avoid enemy gunfire. They were nearly in the clear when three enemy choppers swooped in behind them and began firing. What followed was a ride none of them would ever forget. Murdock dodged and flew rapidly over the water and away from the ship. He yelled back over his shoulder, "Hang on fellas, it's gonna get rough! You might wanna close the doors. Don't want anybody fallin' out! I'm gonna teach these guys to play 'Follow the Leader' Murdock style!"

The incredible series of rapid-fire aerobatics Murdock put his chopper through in the next few minutes was stunning. Anyone watching would have said it couldn't have been done. The gunship simply wasn't designed for it. But the wily pilot did it anyway.

He evaded the three nicely, causing one to crash. He shot the second one down, and the third finally broke off and sped away, doubtlessly deciding the maniac piloting the chopper was not worth the risk. A cheer briefly went up aboard the Allied chopper, once they had caught their breath, and Murdock had set the chopper back on course for the ship, now some ten miles back downriver.

Hannibal was not joining in the celebration. He had not been strapped in and therefore his trip had been equivalent to a stint in a Mixmaster. He was staring at the pilot with murder in his eye. "Are you crazy?" he yelled at the top of his lungs.

The pilot serenely turned and looked the angry captain directly in the eye. "Yessir, I am."

Somehow, Smith knew the man wasn't joking.

 **~HH~**

Andrew moved forward. He looked at Murdock. "What's our status? Is the chopper okay?"

The pilot sighed. "We took a few hits. I think the fuel line might have been damaged, but I can't be positive. It could just be the gauge. If it is the line, we could be swimmin' before we get home. Other than that, everything checks out okay."

Carter nodded. "Okay, just get us there best you can."

Murdock frowned. "Sir, I didn't wanna leave that last guy to radio in our position, but, I seen that hit come in on the fuselage…and figured we might not be able to get back if I kept playin' with him. I had to break off." His dark eyes pled for understanding.

"It's alright. You did the right thing. Just get us home, lieutenant."

"Yessir."

 **~TBC~**

 **A/N:** * For more about the incident where Hannibal lost his brother and changed his name, please read my A-Team story "All of my Memories." * Murdock's timeline in this story doesn't quite fit with that of my other Murdock stories, though I have previously alluded to those other stories. I beg your indulgence at my claim of creative license… or more likely, creative insanity, whichever the case might be.


	40. It's Over Boys

**February 7, 1945**

 **Stalag 13**

It was bitterly cold, and the men had pretty much given up coming up with ways to keep warm. Andrew Carter was not quite as bad off, having been born in blizzard country, but his recent injury and the general deprivation conditions did make it more difficult. However, his focus was not on himself, but on the girl he loved. He had loved her for a very long time. He knew that the war would be over soon, and he worried that Hilda would not be safe in Germany once he left. They had carried on their affair in secret… had been very discreet, realizing the consequences could have been severe had it been discovered. Their situation was very different because her dalliance with Colonel Hogan had been casual and overlooked (mainly because Hogan was clever, charming, and sneaky.)

Hilda's relationship with Carter was anything but casual. They didn't want to risk losing each other, so they had been careful to hide their love from almost everyone. The only ones who knew were the core team, Schultz and Corporal Langenscheidt, who had walked in on them once, by accident. However, Hilda knew enough about young Karl to keep him in line, so there had never been a problem. And now that the end was drawing closer, Carter realized that he had to find a way for them to be together. Like Newkirk before him with his Leticia, he had some decisions to make. And so, Andrew volunteered to clean Klink's office.

 **~HH~**

Hilda was a little startled but flushed with excitement when Andrew came through the door, broom and dust cloth in hand. The boys hadn't been coming around as much lately and she had missed him. She tried not to stare as he made a show of working around. He was much too thin, and it worried her. He caught her eye and winked as he came close to her desk. He bent down to pick up something off the floor and dropped a note onto her desk. He hummed tunelessly as he continued to dust the furniture. She casually read the note. _I need to talk to you alone asap. Urgent. Meet me at our spot._

She looked up and nodded slightly. He smiled, finished his task and chatted inanely with her, as was his habit. He left a few minutes later.

Hilda bundled up and waited for Andrew out by the now dormant patch of grass he had planted long ago, before the earthquake had nearly devastated the camp. She knelt and cleared away the snow from the rocks surrounding the patch. There was no sign of the grass, nor had she had expected any.

"It'll come back." Andrew's soft voice made her smile.

"I know. We might not be here to see it, though." She stood and turned to face him.

Andrew nodded. "That's why I needed to see you."

He led her further into the edge of the forest, where they would not be easily seen. He had something to give her. It had taken him a couple of days to get it just right. She might not appreciate an engagement ring twisted from electrical wire, but it was the best he could do—and he'd replace it as soon as he could. Never one to stand on ceremony, he simply dropped to one knee in the snow, and looked up at her and held out the ring. "Hilda, I love you. Will you marry me?"

Hilda stared at him for a long moment, the implications of his question swirling through her mind. Could she? Could she marry this man, this American? Marry him now, with all that would mean in this time and in this place? And then she saw in an instant what it would mean if she said no. Desolation. Utter and complete desolation. Hilda smiled gently, and cupped Andrew's face in her hands. "Yes, Andrew. I'll marry you. I love you too. I will always love you."

Andrew grinned as he slipped the ring onto her right ring finger and stood back up. Hilda smiled, pleased he had remembered the German custom. He put his arm around her. "Guess we better go tell the guys. We have some plans to make."

Hilda nodded, but her eyes were troubled. "Andrew, I don't want to leave here. Not until I have to. The work I do in the kommandant's office is important." She looked at him pointedly. "I think you can understand that." He looked at her quizzically for a moment and then the light dawned. Hilda was doing work very much like his own… He nodded.

"Don't worry, love, we'll take it a day at a time. We can wait to marry until just before the end, and then you can leave when we do, if you like. We'll get you out through the escape route."

She nodded. "Yes. I think that would be best. We'll need time to process the paperwork."

Andrew chuckled. "I don't think documentation's going to be a problem."

Hilda smiled. "No, I suppose not."

She stared at the delicate twists of copper that formed the intricately woven knots of her ring. "How did you do this? It's beautiful!"

Andrew shrugged. "I just used what I had. I know it's not like a real engagement ring or anything, but—"

Hilda cut him off with a frown. "Not real? Andrew, this ring is more real to me than anything I've ever owned! It's something you made for me! How could anything ever be more real than that? I don't want another ring. It's perfect."

"I was planning to buy you a wedding set in London. A diamond engagement ring."

She smiled. "Usually, we switch the engagement ring from right to left on our wedding day, and it becomes our wedding ring. I understand if you want to buy a gold band. But I don't need a diamond, and I will treasure this ring forever."

Andrew smiled then. "I'll make you a chain for it when we get back home and you can wear it around your neck. But I _am_ going to buy you a diamond wedding set. Don't argue with me about that, understand?" His expression grew fierce, but his twinkling blues eyes ruined his attempts at fierceness.

"Understood, sir." She gave him a jaunty salute and they both laughed as they made their way back to the Kommandantur.

 **~HH~**

April 7, 1945

Sgt. Richard Baker stared at the message in his hand and time seemed to stop. They'd known it was coming. Had been coming for days now. Absently, his fingers traced over the initials burned in the desk. J. A. K. _Kinch_. Damn. It should have been him taking this message. He wondered idly what the "A" stood for. _Funny, the things you think of when you know your next move will change everything around you._

Baker shook himself out of his thoughts with a jolt as it hit him what the message actually said. He bolted up the ladder to the barracks. The men all looked surprised as he rushed to Col. Hogan's door and inside, barely remembering to knock. Moments later, Hogan and Baker came back out, and Hogan was smiling, the first one they'd seen in a long time. He moved to the center of the room and propped a foot on one of the benches next to the table.

"Gather 'round boys, you're gonna wanna hear this."

He held up the small slip of blue paper as the men crowded around him. "We need to start packing, men. Closing down the operation. Allied troops are on their way. Should be here in less than a week.

Carter went very pale and swayed just a little. Newkirk reached out to steady him as he cocked his head. "So, 'at's it then, we've won, guv?"

Hogan nodded. "Looks that way, though it's not official yet. Ol' Scramble Brains is holding out to the bitter end apparently, but yeah, we've won."

There were no hugs or shouting. No stomping or whistling. That would come later perhaps… maybe when the tanks and Allied troops rolled through the gates. But not now, not yet. For now, there was only the enormity of the thing. The idea that all they had fought for, bled for—and died for—was now reality. For a long moment, there was complete silence and stillness. Almost as if time herself was honoring their sacrifice. Celebrating their victory.

It was Carter, of all people who broke the spell in his usual simple manner. "Gee, colonel, guess that means we've got a lot to do."

And everyone seemed to move at once. The next few days were spent in controlled chaos. Perhaps the most poignant moment for the men was when a very well-kept secret romance came to fruition just before the "Traveler's Aide Society" closed its doors for the very last time. Carter had enlisted Newkirk's helping in forging the necessary documents for him and on Wednesday, April 11, they were ready.

It wasn't a fancy wedding, but it was heartfelt. The small group gathered in the "changing room" next to the emergency exit. Taffy Matthews officiated, as he had for Peter and Leticia. There was no party afterwards, as they had very little food left, although LeBeau did manage to scrounge up a loaf of white bread and Newkirk gifted the couple with a half-pound of liberated butter. Hogan contributed the last of his bottle of 12-year-old Scotch and they all drank a toast to the happy couple. An hour after the wedding, Hilda was on her way to England, the last traveler through the escape tunnel. Three hours later, the destruction of the tunnels began.

 **~TBC~**


	41. Last Days

**12 April 45**

 **Barracks 2**

Klink came to visit Hogan not long after Baker got the message that the Allies would be arriving sometime within the next two days. He asked to talk to Hogan privately. Hogan obliged, and the two men stepped into his office, and Klink stayed for two hours. When the door finally opened, Klink left without a word, his expression unreadable. Hogan did not leave his office at all but simply shut the door behind his visitor and asked not to be disturbed.

Eventually, he came out and joined them at the table. For the first time in a very long time, he cleared the room of all but the core team, Taffy and Olsen. Not even their back-ups were allowed to remain. LeBeau handed Hogan a cup of hot water, since coffee was now a distant memory. Newkirk looked at their commander. "So, what did ol' Klinky 'ave to say, guv?"

Hogan glanced over at Carter, who had been lying on his bunk staring off into space until Hogan had come into the room. It was no secret the new husband was desperately worried about his bride. It wasn't likely he would hear from her again until he got back to London himself. It was simply too dangerous to send messages back and forth anymore.

"Carter, did you know? About Klink?"

Andrew didn't bother pretending he didn't know what Hogan was referring to. Unlike the others, he had been sure what Klink and Hogan had been discussing during the previous two hours. Hogan's pointed expression confirmed his suspicions. He sat up on the edge of the bunk. "Yessir. I knew. I've known since I was assigned here."

Hogan nodded, ignoring the confused looks on the others' faces. "Well, boys, I know now why we've managed as well as we have. He's been on our side this entire time. He's the one who has protected us all along, from Burkhalter, from Hochstetter, from all of them. Without him, there could have been no Papa Bear." There was stunned silence all around the room, as that bit of news sank in to the shocked men.

He let that sink in for a moment, and then continued. "We have one last mission to perform and he came to fill me in. He's being flown out of here tonight… out of Germany altogether. He requested that Schultz and his family be allowed to go with him. Allied Command agreed. Schultz's wife and daughters are being picked up and brought to a safehouse near the airfield as we speak."

Newkirk stared at Hogan. "I get that London would agree to take Klink out ahead of the Nazis if he was helpin' us, but to do all that? Get all those folks out just for him? Not that I wanna see anythin' bad happen to Schultz, mind you, but still… That's a lot to ask, at this late date, guv."

Hogan nodded. "If he were anybody else, it would be." He looked around the room. "Klink is Nimrod." *

The shocked tension that blanketed the room seemed to nearly suffocate the men for a moment. _The_

 _bumbling, incompetent commandant—the greatest double agent in all of Germany?_

Carter's eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline… no small trick. "Well, how do ya like that? Klink turned out to be a better actor than me!"

Andrew's comment broke the tension and the men laughed, though they sobered as Hogan quickly got their attention once again.

"Since the tunnels have been destroyed, it basically means going out the front gate. This mission could be suicide, since we'll be leaving with the command staff, and coming back without them. I can't ask any of you to do this, so, I'm going to do it alone."

"Like hell you are. _Sir_." Olsen glowered at Hogan. "We started this mission together, long before anyone else even knew there even _was_ a mission. And we will finish it together. You are _not_ leaving me behind now, Rob."

The use of his first name by a subordinate startled all of them, and Hogan did not fail to notice the expressions. He smirked and cocked an eyebrow at Olsen. "Looks like you blew your cover. You might as well introduce yourself properly."

Olsen grinned. "First Lieutenant Daniel Aubrey Olsen, at your somewhat dubious service!"

There were a few gasps as the men took that in. Baker looked at him with a twinkle in his eye. "What kind of name is "Aubrey?"

Taffy chuckled. "Likely one that'll get your head handed to you if you give him a hard time about it. My question is, why the subterfuge?"

Hogan shrugged. "Simple. I needed Danny here, with me. Not at a Dulag. I needed an outside man who knew this area like the back of his hand, and he fit the bill. He was born in the States but moved here as a kid, when his father took a job at the University of Hamburg. They moved back to America about fifteen years ago. He joined Eagle Squadron like I did, and London put us together for this job.

Hogan noticed Olsen was now grinning widely at him. "What?"

"Oh, nothing. I just thought you said _I_ was supposed to properly introduce myself, and I can't get a word in edgewise, as usual!"

That made everyone laugh… even Carter.

Newkirk's brow wrinkled in concern. "Schultzie ain't gonna wanna go, guv."

"Why not? They're bringing out his entire family… including his nephew Wolfie."

"I know that… but he has two sons fighting on the front, sir. When the Nazis discover Klink and Schultz are gone… what happens to them? And what about Frau Linkmeyer? Will they leave her alone?

Hogan nodded. "I see what you mean. It is possible we can stage this so that it could be assumed an accident happened. We just have to hurry. Perhaps… an accident? And with Klink…"

Carter shrugged. "Simple. Just blow up the Kommandantur early in the morning. Send him to the airfield in the trunk of the car. Better yet, put both Schultz and Klink in the trunk. That way, you don't have to stage an accident. As confused as things are right now, I would bet Schultz's sons would be safe until the Allies can get them out… I would bet the Underground can get in and find them and pull them out if they want to go. And if they don't, their father will be out of the Nazi's reach by then."

Hogan nodded. "Makes sense, Andrew. Makes sense. Let's get to work."

The mission itself was somewhat anticlimactic… sort of par for the course for the heroes. Except that it was anything but routine. Andrew's explosives were perfectly timed and the Kommandantur was destroyed on schedule. Langenscheidt made an emergency run to inform Burkhalter… with both command officers in the trunk. Hogan and Olsen met the car on the road outside of camp. Good-byes were of necessity short and were a bit awkward. Klink and Hogan shook hands last and Klink disappeared silently into the plane. Schultz had shepherded his family aboard already, and now hugged each of "his boys" in turn, admonishing them to be good and take care of themselves. He clambered aboard and refused to look back.

Karl Langenscheidt had long been unhappy with his situation. He loved his country… but hated its government. He, like Schultz, had helped the POWs where he could. And now? He faced his the biggest decision of his young life. He asked Col. Hogan to allow him to escape with Klink and Schultz. Hogan agreed. There was an extra passenger on that last flight out. Hogan and Olsen drove the car back and abandoned it outside camp. They hiked back and sneaked in under the wire. No one even noticed, because they returned to a camp in complete chaos.

 **13 April 45**

 **Stalag 13**

 **Barracks 2**

After the final messages came from London, Baker had been instructed to destroy the radio equipment, and Carter had been ordered to do the same with the last of his lab and all his equipment. Newkirk had already destroyed their stock of enemy uniforms and insignia. They had very few civilian clothes left, but they sent what little they had left out through Oskar Schnitzer to various townsfolk who had been sympathetic to the prisoners over the years.

It was a lot to handle in just five days, but they pulled it off. They had enacted the plans drawn up all those years ago which had been laid out when Hogan had first been assigned to Stalag 13 and they had begun their operation. Each person had been assigned specific tasks, and they performed them efficiently and thoroughly. As a result, they were ready when the tanks and Allied soldiers did, indeed, roll through the gates in the early afternoon… an afternoon none of them would ever forget.

Formal command was transferred to the Allies with no resistance of any kind… and the prisoners were transported to processing centers to be debriefed and sent home. Reality hit hard for the core team when Richard Baker and the other colored POWs were once again transferred into a segregated unit. It made them all realize they had been living in something of a bubble at Stalag 13, due in large part to Nimrod's protection. He had done everything he could to see that their operation ran as smoothly as possible, while at the same time maintaining his balance with both the Wehrmacht and the Gestapo, all while appearing to be nothing more than a simpering fool. No wonder the man had ulcers on his ulcers.

Before they were separated, they all agreed to meet in London, at the Red Lion after the war to celebrate. They picked an arbitrary date… since no one knew exactly when they would all be there together. Hogan had it on good authority they would likely see the war's end in Europe by summer… so he proposed Friday, 1 June at 1900. The Americans would likely end up at the base in London before they went home, and Newkirk was planning to go back to Stepney. Louis reckoned he could make the sacrifice of spending a few days in London to be with his comrades.

 **~TBC~**

 **A/N:** * Yes, I know most folks would never peg Klink as Nimrod. That's why I picked him. Carter also knows him as "Bald Eagle," which he chooses not to reveal to anyone. So... a triple agent... sort of. _But a good guy, anyway._


	42. All Aboard

**June 1964**

 **On the Main Deck of**

 **The Celeste Marie**

Robert Hogan was sure he had never seen a more welcome sight than that last gunship that came roaring out towards the ship. She made a bit of a rough landing, and she was leaking some fairly vital fluids, but she was in one piece, as were most of her occupants. He watched as everyone piled off the chopper. Andrew helped support the American captain as he did his best to shake off his attempts to help him. Smith was sporting a bloody bandage around his head, but he seemed to be moving around mostly under his own steam.

The pilot, Lt. Murdock, had immediately begun circling the chopper, assessing the damage. He stopped to pat the craft occasionally, crooning softly to her, as one would an injured child. Hogan shook his head, and turned towards Andrew, who was now standing next to him, an exhausted, but pleased expression on his face.

"We did it, Colonel."

Hogan nodded, and smiled a little at the use of his old rank and what it would always mean. "That we did. Got most everyone out from the looks of it, too."

Andrew sobered, the pain in his eyes more evident now. "Preliminary figures are we lost about twelve to fifteen, sir. We'll be able to confirm in a few hours. There are fourteen injured, three critical, the others less so. We also have about a dozen children to care for. Yvette and Tiger have taken over their care, since Taffy is just now coming around, and in no shape to take over yet… But, he's not happy he got mickeyed. He's also mad because I told him something he couldn't argue with."

Hogan looked at Carter, whose blue eyes were dancing with a hint of his old mischief. "What's that?"

Carter grinned. "I used one of his favorite quotes on him. 'God works in mysterious ways, my son.' He wasn't amused."

Hogan laughed for the first time in a long time. It felt good.

 **~HH~**

Louis LeBeau had been busy for many long hours… basically since they had left port back in Tokyo. He had eaten lightly and slept little. However, he felt invigorated, felt younger than he had in many years. He was filled with purpose and anyone observing him on the deck of the hospital ship would have been hard pressed to keep up with him. When the last helicopter had landed, and its passengers were dispatched appropriately, Louis felt free to search out his old friends. He found Col. Hogan and Andrew Carter talking near the starboard bow next to a large pile of crates of supplies.

He smiled and hugged Col. Hogan, greeting him in the manner of the French, with a kiss on both cheeks. "It is good to see you again, _mon colonel_!" He turned to Carter and was momentarily stunned as he got his first good look at _Andre'_. He had spent several years playing nursemaid to the man, who tended to be the one who got sick or injured most often back at Stalag 13. Of course, _Andre's_ penchant for playing with explosives had something to do with it… as did his tendency to worry more about others than himself. It looked like now was no exception, because in a word, _Andre' looked like hell._

For his part, Andrew smiled at Louis. He was happy to see his old friend. Louis stepped forward and started to greet Carter as he had Hogan, but instead, found himself hugging _Andre'_ tightly as he realized just how close they had come to losing him. And suddenly, it was if Andrew's body finally realized he was safe, and the last month caught up with him. Because he collapsed into Louis' arms, out cold. Hogan turned and shouted for a couple of medics. When the medics brought a stretcher, LeBeau snapped at them. "You be careful! This man is my friend. You will take special care, you hear me?"

 **~HH~**

The Celeste Marie was a fully functioning hospital ship. She boasted two fully equipped operating theatres, as well as six treatment rooms, an emergency room, x-ray facilities, a laboratory and six patient wards, plus crew quarters and facilities. She carried a full medical staff including four surgeons and six specialists, as well as a host of other doctors, nurses, interns, medics and other support staff. It had cost Louis a fortune to lease the ship, but he would have paid ten times the price to bring his friends home and see them cared for properly.

Now that the facilities were in full operation the ship was a hive of activity, as well as crowded. They were preparing to pull out of the harbor, and the doctor who had stitched Hannibal's head wound was fussing over him as he and his men prepared to rejoin their unit. Finally, the captain had had enough and simply walked out of the treatment room and headed back on deck.

He watched as his men finished putting their gear together and turned to find the pilot who had nearly killed him watching him with that odd intensity that seemed to be so much a part of him. For some reason, Smith felt drawn to the man… there was something about him, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He wasn't particularly surprised when the man ambled over to him. "I'd be happy to give you and your boys a ride back to wherever you need to go, Captain Smith. I promise I'll try to give you a smoother ride this time. The only thing is, I don't have a bird. When I leave here, I'm not plannin' on comin' back out this way."

This piqued Smith's interest. "No? So just what are your plans, lieutenant? You were one of the POWs. Aren't you going to Tokyo with the ship?"

Murdock shook his head. "No sir, I'm not. I mean, yes, I was a prisoner there, but not a typical prisoner. I have to go back. I'm goin' back into the jungle. You might say I have a new… assignment."

Smith scrutinized the skinny, ragged pilot with the intense dark eyes and felt a chill go down his spine.

LeBeau, who had just returned on deck from overseeing Andrew Carter's trip to the Emergency Ward, happened to catch enough of the conversation to realize they needed a ride back to shore. And the only birds available at the moment were the ones he had leased, since the one Newkirk had flown in from Tokyo was too damaged to fly without some major repairs.

He made a decision which he knew would cost him a great deal of money, but which he also knew to be absolutely the right decision. He strode up to the two men. "Pardon my intrusion, gentlemen, but I understand you are in need of transportation?"

Hannibal looked at him curiously. "We are."

Louis smiled and pointed to the gunships, which were now being refueled, repaired and made battle ready. They could not relax their vigilance, since they would still be in danger most of the way back to Tokyo. "Would one of those fit your needs?"

Murdock stared at him for a moment. "We're not comin' back."

Louis' heart twisted at the thought of sending these young men back into that hell, but he did not let it show. "I understand. It is not a problem. You see, I never rent a car without purchasing the optional insurance." His eyes sparkled with mischief. "It is a concept I learned from my American friends. I am _giving_ the helicopter to you. It will be alright."

Murdock's eyes opened wide with delight, and he grinned. "In that case, what are we waitin' for, gents? Thank you!" He shook Louis' hand and loped off to inspect his new bird, as excited as a kid at Christmas. Hannibal stood with Louis for a moment and watched Murdock in amazement. "Y'know, there's something not quite right about that guy, but I think I like him. He kinda grows on you."

Louis nodded. " _Oui_. There _is_ something about him." He turned and looked gravely at the captain, who had now shouldered his duffel and was ready to head to the chopper. "Thank you for your help. I know you went far beyond just doing your duty to help us. I know it could cause you trouble. If you ever need anything, any help at all, I am forever in your debt. I am a man of my word, Mr. Smith. Please remember this."

Hannibal grinned . "It was kinda nice helping folks for a change… and knowing we were doin' it just because it was the right thing to do. Black and white is pretty rare over here, if you get what I mean. I could get used to it. Swooping in and savin' the day."

Louis smiled. "I do understand. And I have an idea, Captain, this will not be your last taste of playing the hero… black and white, as you say."

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. "Oh? How do you figure that?"

Louis wasn't really sure himself, but as he watched the pilot now chattering a mile a minute with one of the ground crew and then glanced back at Smith, he _knew_. The two men were bound together for life in the same way he and his teammates were bound. And similarly, they would accomplish much together. "Easy," he grinned. "I'm psychic."

 **~TBC~**


	43. Reunion

**1 June 45**

 **London England**

 **1300**

Andrew Carter was nervous. Very nervous. He sat on the narrow bed in the cheap bedsitter or lodge, or whatever they called it over here. He hadn't wanted to ruin the surprise, so he had taken the room just off base. He was getting ready to take a cab to meet the plane, a civilian flight, again, so that no one would be tipped off too soon. He wouldn't put it past Newkirk or one of the others to have ears to the ground already, just to keep track of what was happening around town. And this was one surprise he needed to keep secret till the very last minute.

An hour later, he stood with the small crowd awaiting the arriving passengers, and his face lit up like a searchlight when he caught sight of the tall man in his officer's uniform hefting his duffel bag to his shoulder. Andrew waved his arm excitedly and Kinch smiled back. "Andrew!" He closed the distance between them and the two hugged, Kinch clapping Andrew soundly on the back.

They talked a mile a minute on the way back to the hotel, though Kinch smirked when he saw the rather dilapidated building. Carter shrugged. "Keeping a low profile," he explained.

Kinch nodded. "Any lower and we'll be in a pothole, Andrew."

 **1500**

 **London**

Peter Newkirk hadn't been sure his order would be ready on time, but finally, he had gotten the call, and picked up the flasks. There were a dozen of them. He had had them engraved identically. He could not explain why he had gotten so many, when he knew they wouldn't all be at the reunion. He had no idea who would show up, exactly. But he did know one thing. They were all his brothers… always would be, no matter how much time went by, no matter the circumstances. And so, he had bought the flasks. Even had a crazy idea that someday, he would go back and bury one with Kinch… if they ever moved him out of that damned POW graveyard…

 **1600**

 **London HQ**

Colonel Robert Hogan stared at the man sitting across the desk from him. The war was over, but the fighting was not. At least, not the in-fighting of who was going to control what sectors of the former Axis-held territories in Europe. Not much was being said publicly yet, because the war in the Pacific Theatre raged on, and the push was to demobilize in Europe. Troop ships departing for New York were a common sight all over Europe. There was a definite air of controlled chaos. And now, Hogan was being offered an opportunity to be a part of that chaos. A chance to continue his work in Germany, to become a sort of military liaison in Hamburg. "You mean a temporary governor, don't you, General?" Hogan decided to cut through the bull and get to the point. "No real power, but it would be a title. A kind of reward for my work at the Stalag."

General Atwater frowned. He was new to headquarters and had never met Hogan before. He had been sure the man would simply see things his way and acquiesce to his demands. He realized he may have been a bit optimistic in his thinking.

And Hogan wanted no part of it. No matter how he might want to help, Hogan knew he wanted—needed to go home. He stood and saluted the general. "Thank you, sir, but no thank you. I'm going home. I believe I have about 215 days of furlough built up, and I intend to use them to figure out what I want to do next. In the meantime, I have a very important meeting to attend. If you'll excuse me?"

He saluted, which the general reluctantly returned, and Hogan hurried to his quarters. He had just enough time to clean up and get changed. He did not want to be late…

 **1700**

 **London**

Kinch sat at the small table, looking at his friend. Andrew looked pretty good, though he was still too skinny. "So, how's Hilda?"

Andrew smiled. "She's fine. Staying with Helga and her family right now, since Peter's back. I talked to my folks, and once we get all the paperwork straightened out, I'm gonna bring her home."

Kinch smiled. "That's great, Andrew. I'm glad for you. But let me ask you, what's wrong with the paperwork?"

Andrew's face fell. "Kinch, she's German. They don't want to allow her into the United States right now. They said I can go home, of course, but that I can't take her with me. Col. Hogan's working on it, but I got my orders yesterday. It looks like she'll have to stay in London without me."

Kinch shook his head. "I'm sorry, man. That stinks." He looked at his watch. "We better get going."

Andrew nodded, though he had gone a bit pale. "What if they still don't understand, Kinch? What if they still won't forgive me? What I did was awful."

Kinch shrugged. "Don't borrow trouble. Just go, and we'll figure it out when we get there." He chuckled. "Just like we always do."

 **1800**

 **The Red Lion**

 **London**

That he was the first one there would surprise no one. His appearance might surprise them all. Though he was dressed immaculately, he looked drawn, and exhausted. Things in Paris were difficult just now…. His suit was of a fine cut, but old, from well before the war, and looked as if it had been recently, and extensively, tailored. All of those things were true, but it was the best he could do on short notice. He had known about the date, but because of general conditions in Paris, and more specifically, his own circumstances, LeBeau had been busy trying to sort through his uncle's affairs and rebuild his own life. He had found the suit in amongst his uncle's things and decided to remake it for himself. He liked the dark grey summer-weight wool. He chose a table at the back of the bar, and set his fedora on it, his back to the wall. He ordered a glass of wine and settled back to wait.

 **1900**

 **The Red Lion**

They all seemed to arrive at once, except for Kinch. Andrew would explain, and then Kinch would come in. He was waiting in the coffee shop next door. They knew their plan wasn't the best, but, it was the best they could come up with. Andrew and Olsen nearly collided at the door and walked in together. In short order, Newkirk, Hogan, Baker, and Taffy were seated around two tables they pushed together. Hogan frowned. "We're missing some guys." His gut clenched when his thoughts went automatically to Kinch, but he didn't say anything.

Taffy spoke up. "Garlotti got sent home already. His papa had a heart attack a few weeks ago. Looks like he'll be okay, but he needed Tony. I helped expedite his paperwork. Gopher left London a few days ago… decided to go try to make up with his family in Switzerland. Said to say goodbye to everyone, but with the way things are, he has a long trip. He's hitchhiking."

Newkirk frowned. "How the hell is he gonna hitchhike off an island?"

Hogan grinned. "Knowing Dieter? He'll figure a way."

Just then Thomas Foster breezed in, panting slightly. "Sorry I'm late, fellas. I took a bus over here from the base, and the thing broke down."

Hogan looked fondly at the men seated around him. "Well, then, let's get this reunion started, shall we?"

Carter stood, an odd look on his pale face. "Colonel, wait. There's something you fellas need to know before this goes any further. I-I don't know how to—to explain it so's you'll understand, but—oh, hell!" He suddenly rushed out the front door, leaving the others completely mystified. In a few moments, he was back, standing in the doorway, and they could all see him basically shaking in his boots.

Hogan stood and started towards him. "Andrew, what is it? What's wrong?"

Carter took a deep breath as he held up a hand to stop Colonel Hogan. "Just wait there, please, sir." Hogan sat back down, confused. Andrew stepped further into the room and grabbed the back of a chair for support as James Kinchloe walked into the room and back from the dead.

Once the shock wore off, the questions flew thick and fast for the next few minutes as Kinch and Carter explained what had happened on that long-ago night down in the radio room and the events that followed. Kinch was still wearing his uniform, and Hogan smiled at the sight of the lieutenant's bars on his shoulders. "So, you wound up with a promotion _and_ ended up working at the Pentagon?"

Kinch nodded. "Can't talk about it, but yeah, that's about the size of it."

For his part, Andrew watched Newkirk very carefully. The whole incident had nearly cost them their friendship, and he was never sure that Peter had entirely forgiven him. Not surprisingly, the Cockney was very quiet after Kinch had joined them. Finally, Peter pulled a parcel out from under his chair. "Alright then, mates, I 'ave somethin' fer each of ya. Sorta ta remember me by, if ya will." He handed each of them a flat silver flask, on which were engraved these words, "To me mates, Ta, Peter." Below the inscription was engraved the date they had been liberated… "13 April 45."

The others were stunned by the gift and admired it, running their hands over the gleaming silver and commenting on its simple beauty. Carter did not touch his. He stared at it, sitting in front of him, and tears began to run down his cheeks. He shook his head and leaned tiredly back in his chair. He turned despairing eyes on his best friend. "I can't take it, Peter. I'm sorry." He stood, and walked out of the pub.

Newkirk realized there wasn't much he could do or say, but he had to try. He turned to his mates. "I'll be back in a tick."

He stepped outside and saw Andrew leaning against the pub, smoking. He walked over, leaned against the wall next to him and snagged the cigarette out of his hand, taking a deep drag. He looked up into the sky, which was, for once, remarkably clear and filled with stars. "Strange, innit?"

"What's that?"

"That these are the same stars we used ta watch through the holes in the barracks roof."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Nothin' really. It's just that… well, Andrew, those stars are just the same no matter what. They don't care what happens to us down here, they go on just the same. An' so do we, mate. We got put in that place, an' did what we had ta do. We didn't ask for it, but we did it. An' it was tough. We had to do stuff that most people niver even imagine. Wouldn't want to imagine. But," Peter slanted his eyes over to his best friend. "the things we had to do, the decisions we made over there, don't make us who we are here and now. You can walk away if you need to. But I don't want you to. You're me mate, Andrew. Me brother. You always will be." Peter ground out the cigarette and dropped it into his pocket. He pushed off the building and walked back into the Red Lion without looking back.

Andrew stared up at the stars for a moment and smiled slowly. Eventually, he followed his brother back inside the smoky crowded pub. His eyes fell on the Union Jack behind the bar. It was good to be home.

 **~TBC~**


	44. Not Sleeping

**June 1964**

 **Aboard the Celeste Marie**

 **Enroute to Tokyo**

It was late at night, and the lights were dimmed in the various patient wards, but not all the men were asleep. There were several men who had been critically injured during the escape, and now, one night out from shore, Flt. Lt. Patrick Fields was slipping away from them. The doctors had done all they could… but it was simply not enough. Infection had set into his abdominal wounds and quickly overwhelmed his system. Andrew Carter had left the ER only a few hours earlier after receiving word that Fields was dying. Andrew had been Fields' last commanding officer, and he took that duty seriously. He was determined he would be with the young pilot now… the man who had helped him survive and played such a big part in the escape. The doctors weren't happy Carter had left the ER, but they understood.

Fields had drifted in and out of consciousnesses… seemingly anxious about something. Towards the end, he asked to see Taffy, who came right away. Carter offered to leave them alone, but Fields asked him to stay. "Need to tell you somethin'. Shoulda seen it. My fault."

Taffy asked gently, "What was your fault, Patrick?"

"Duffy. My fault. Betrayed us. My second. Shoulda seen it. My fault." Fields gasped in pain and was quiet. Speaking had cost him dearly. He closed his eyes.

Carter's eyes went wide as he and Taffy exchanged looks. Taffy wasn't sure exactly what Fields was talking about, but Carter knew.

He leaned towards the young officer, to make sure he could see him. "Lieutenant, can you hear me?"

Fields cracked open his eyes and sought out Carter. After a moment, they focused on him. "Yes. Yessir. I can."

"Good. Then you listen to me, and you listen good," he said sternly. "What Duffy did was _not_ your fault. He was a traitor and a liar. He hurt a lot of people, but you did nothing wrong. He fooled a lot of people including me. You are in no way to blame for what happened. Do you understand me?"

Fields frowned. "But sir…"

Carter eyed him. "Are you going to argue with a Major?"

Fields stiffened slightly. "No, sir. But is that supposed to make it right? You pullin' rank on me?"

Andrew sighed. "No, son. It's not. But you didn't do anything but trust a friend. And we've all been guilty of that. And sometimes friends let us down."

Slowly, Fields relaxed and eventually, he even smiled a little. "Thank you, sir. That makes sense."

The room grew quiet, except the for the steady sounds of the monitors, which had grown noticeably slower. Carter looked over at Taffy, who had stayed in the background during this exchange. As much as it hurt, Carter knew it was time to change places with the chaplain. He looked down at Fields, who had closed his eyes, and seemed at peace. He stepped away from the bed and went to lean against the wall, yielding his place to Taffy.

 **~HH~**

Another light was on in another part of the ship. Tiger was sitting up with one of the orphans who was having a hard time sleeping. This wasn't really surprising, but if Tiger had known this particular boy better, she would have been shocked. Phan had a reputation for being able to sleep through pretty much anything. In fact, it was something of a joke around the orphanage. Taffy had figured out that it was because Phan had been desensitized to the horror around him at such a young age. Phan had been the first orphan Taffy had taken in… found, actually in the jungle. In many ways, Phan symbolized the work Taffy had taken on. Running the orphanage gave him purpose. Running the safehouse gave him a way to help end the insanity.

Just now, Phan couldn't sleep because he had a message to deliver and he hadn't been able to deliver it. He hadn't even seen the American officer he was to deliver it to. He knew he was on board, but he had only caught a brief glimpse of him before he and the other orphans were taken belowdecks and assigned to their quarters. And he hadn't seen Taffy at all. And so, Phan was awake. Finally, he decided to give Miss Tiger the message. Perhaps she could get the message to the officer, and he could finally get some sleep.

Phan sat cross-legged on the deck, leaning his arms on the edge of Miss Tiger's cot. She held Cam, who was asleep, while Trin lay across the bottom of the cot, also sleeping. Both girls had been badly frightened by the whole experience, and Phan was glad they were finally asleep. "Miss Tiger, may I speak with you, please?"

Tiger regarded the boy fondly. "Of course, Phan, what is it?"

"Lt. Kim asked me to give Major Carter a message for him, but I haven't seen him to give it to him. Can you help me?"

Tiger was startled. She knew who Lt. Kim was, but wondered when Kim could have spoken to Phan. However, the message had to be important, so she stayed quiet, and waited for the boy to speak.

"Lt. Kim asked me to tell Major Carter that he was going to go and free his family and fight Dao and the others like him. That there are others, and that they would take back their country. He said to thank him and the soldiers. I have to tell him that I saw Lt. Kim run into the jungle the other way from the camp, toward the village where Dao kept the families."

Tiger smiled gently at the boy. "I'll tell him. You did just fine, Phan. Now, go back to your cot, and sleep."

Phan nodded and grinned. "I can, now. Thank you." Twenty minutes later, he was sound asleep. He never even noticed a passing freighter.

 **~HH~**

Jamie Newkirk could not sleep. The things he had seen since the gunships had come in bringing back the POWs weighed heavily on his mind. His two best friends had gone back with the ships, and both had been shot at. Oh, he wasn't naïve… he knew about war… had grown up around the effects of war, knew all about intrigue and such. You couldn't grow up with a father and uncles like his and not know about stuff like that. But _this_. This experience, up close and personal? This was different. He had stayed behind on the ship and worked with the doctors, preparing to receive the patients. He had worked with them round the clock. He was pre-med… and the things he had studied so far had helped… but somewhere in the middle of the chaos… he had come to a decision. One that he knew his parents were not going to like. Which was why Jamie couldn't sleep.

Jamie rolled over in his bunk. Andy's light was also on, and he was busy fussing with some sort of project, though what it was, Jamie wasn't sure. Andy lay in the top bunk above Pete, who was draped over the blankets in the lower bunk sawing logs. If he hadn't been suffering from insomnia, Jamie thought he would have needed earplugs for sure. He rolled his eyes at Andy, who grinned and reached down and smacked Pete on the side of the head. "Wake up, Sleeping Beauty! You're annoying the masses!"

Pete opened his eyes with a frown. "Wha-what?"

Andy leaned over the side of the bunk and grinned at him. "You were snoring. Stop it."

Pete snorted and ran a hand through his hair. "You woke me up to tell me that?"

"Yup."

"Hmph. Jerk." He pushed himself up against his pillow and sighed. "So, I'm awake now. What's up?"

Jamie snorted back a laugh, and then peered more closely at the multitude of wires Andy was weaving together. "What are you making over there?"

Andy smiled shyly. "Somethin' for a friend."

The other two looked at each other. They grinned, knowing full well who the friend was. As a matter of fact, Jamie had been pulling boxes of bandages off a pallet on deck when he'd seen Andy and Yvette kissing right before Andy jumped onto the gunship. He grinned over at his friend. "You love Yvette, don't you?" It was mostly a rhetorical question, and Jamie wasn't surprised when he didn't get an answer.

Jamie tried in vain to get more comfortable on the narrow bunk. It was hard, and the thin mattress was lumpy… clearly the designer hadn't meant for anyone to spend much time in it. He decided he needed to talk about what was on his mind… see if his best friends could help him sort it out.

The twins both looked over at Jamie nearly at the same time, just as he started to speak. Jamie couldn't really say he was surprised, since he was used to the twins being on the same wavelength.

"I need to tell my parents something, and I don't think they're gonna like it."

Pete smirked. "You're joining the Army."

"You're running away to join the circus." Andy said at the same time.

Jamie chuckled. "Actually, Pete, you're close. I'm thinking seriously about changing my major to journalism. I wanna be a war correspondent. People need to know what's going on over here. And I can show them. I _need_ to show them."

Andy nodded. "Yeah. I can see your point. I guess you're just gonna have to make them understand. And if it helps any, I think you're doing the right thing. How can people really know what it's all about, know the truth if they can't _see_ it? It's dangerous, though."

Jamie nodded. "I know. I've thought about that, but this is right for me."

Pete smiled. "Well, then, I guess you just have to brave your parents. I promise, we'll stick around to pick up the pieces."

Jamie smirked. "Gee, thanks."

Andy dropped his project into a small cloth bag, finished for the night. They turned out the lights, and soon, all three were asleep.

 **~HH~**

The trip back to Tokyo took about a week. The sea air seemed to help revive and heal most of the men, though conditions were quite crowded. Taffy had his hands full with the children, though he had lots of helpers, as the orphans quickly became favorites amongst the former prisoners. Much to his amusement, he found he was right about Phan and Newkirk. The two got along extremely well, and spent much of their time on deck, where they quickly set up an all-comers, all-hours poker game. Newkirk found himself hard-pressed to keep Phan from fleecing the prisoners out of every cigarette and match they owned. He finally convinced the boy that overt cheating was bad for business, and after that, there was never an empty seat at the game. All in all, Newkirk and Phan got little sleep the rest of the trip back to Tokyo.

Doc D spent his time alternating between writing letters home and working with the injured men on the hospital ward. His jaw had been wired shut the day he arrived, and caused him considerable pain, but he refused to complain. He was grateful to be alive but haunted by the demon memories of Camp 208. He kept as busy as he could, knowing he would be overwhelmed by them if he slowed down long enough for them to catch him. He began to suffer more frequent nightmares, but figure he wasn't the only one, and so kept the fact to himself. In fact sleep was pretty elusive for Roy DeSoto that whole first week on the ship…

By the time the ship pulled into the dock at Tokyo, everyone on board was more than ready to go ashore. The prisoners were impatient to start the debriefing process that would eventually get them home. The staff and crew wanted to get the ship back in shape for their next mission, whatever that might be. And Hogan and his team? They were looking forward to a flight to Paris and some down time before returning home themselves. LeBeau had already invited them all to his estate, and the invitation had been gratefully accepted.

What none of them had known was that Louis had spent some time in the communications shack on the ship and had contacted his secretary Giselle. He had her make some arrangements; set up a surprise for two of his friends.

The crew worked quickly and efficiently to get the ship docked and the passengers ready to go ashore. And then, it was time to reveal his surprise. The POWs were mostly taken ashore in groups to a relocation center that had been set up at Camp Zama *

Once most of the men were ashore, Hogan and his team left the ship. LeBeau had promised them there would be a car waiting to take them all to Haneda Airport for their flights back home. What he didn't tell them was that he had hired a stretch limo… and that there would be two additional guests for the trip.

 **~TBC~**

 **A/N:** * Camp Zama (キャンプ座間) is a United States Army post located in the cities of Zama and Sagamihara, in Kanagawa Prefecture, Japan, about 40 km (25 mi) southwest of Tokyo, built by the Japanese prior to the outbreak of WW2. To my knowledge, no relocation facilities were ever set up there, and while the camp is real, my use of the camp is fictional.


	45. On the Dock

**A/N:** And so my friends, we come to the end of this story. I thank you for sharing this adventure with me. It has been a wonderful, difficult, crazy journey. I hope you enjoyed it and I thank you for your patience. I thank you for indulging my flights of fancy and imagination, and I thank you most of all for your support. Thank you once again to my daughter Hilary for listening. To Xav… you are the best writing partner anyone could ever ask for, and I thank God He blessed me with not only a writing partner, but a good friend as well! And so dear readers, until next time… Vaya con Dios.

 **June 1964**

 **At the Dock**

 **Tokyo**

The limo pulled up to the dock and parked near the ship. The driver opened the back door and helped Hilda Carter and Leticia Newkirk from the back. The two ladies were too excited to wait inside the car, and they watched in anticipation as men poured down the gangway. Eventually, most of the men had made their way to the busses and trucks that awaited them, and finally, Leticia spotted Peter and the others as they crossed the deck and started down.

They had already decided to stay as quiet as they could and see how long it took for Andrew and Peter to realize they were there. They might as well not have bothered, because Andrew was no more than halfway down when his head suddenly came up, and he looked straight at Hilda. He smiled and took off at a run, nearly mowing down several men in front of him. Peter realized what was happening, and spotted Leticia. He hurried down the gangway, not far behind Carter, though Andrew reached the girls first. The three boys realized their mothers were there and clattered down the gangway, making more noise than a platoon of soldiers by themselves.

The others joined them not long after that, and there was an exchange of many hugs and kisses. Hilda held Andrew closely. He had cleaned up on the ship, shaved and gotten his hair cut, but the evidence of his ordeal was still very obvious, though she still didn't know exactly what he'd been through. Her tears ran freely as she stroked his cheek. "I missed you so much, Andrew. I was so frightened. Please, don't do that again."

Carter laughed gently and slipped his arm around her. "I promise I will try my darndest not to, my love."

"Well, I may have some incentive for keeping you home for a while."

"Oh? And what's that?"

Hilda turned and looked at her sons. "You boys haven't told him anything, have you?"

Both boys grinned and shook their heads, "Not a word," Pete assured her.

Hilda turned back to face her husband. "Andrew, do you remember what you did with the cradles your father made for the boys when we were expecting them?"

Andrew looked confused at the odd question. "Sure. I stored them in the attic. Figured they might want them someday."

"I need you to get one of them down for me when we get back home."

Andrew blinked. "What? Why?"

Peter Newkirk suddenly began to chuckle. He was apparently a little quicker on the uptake than his best mate at the moment. He reached into General Hogan's shirt pocket and extracted an item he knew would clear up the confusion. He handed Andrew a cigar. "Congratulations, Poppa!"

With the secret finally out, the whole group shared a relieved laugh, especially at the look of complete shock on Andrew's face.

Once they had calmed down and congratulations had been offered, Louis LeBeau offered a suggestion… an idea he had been considering.

"You know, we should really have a reunion in twenty years. To see where we all are and what we are all doing."

Taffy, who had been quiet this whole time spoke up then. "Well, it will be my 70th birthday in 20 years. Perhaps that would be a fitting occasion for a reunion."

The others nodded until suddenly, Andy Carter spoke up. "Actually, that's one idea. I have another."

Andrew regarded him with interest, "What do you have in mind, son?"

Andy smiled and suddenly dropped to one knee in front of Yvette, who had been standing quietly next to him. He pulled out a little bag and opened it. "I'd like to make a 20th anniversary party as well, Yvette, if you'll have me."

He showed her the woven wire ring he had made her. "I made it for you on the ship. Of course, it's not a diamond, but I'll get you one, I promise." He stared up at her anxiously. He never heard the sharp gasp from his father, or saw the tears start once again down his mother's cheeks. He had eyes only for Yvette.

For her part, Yvette's eyes widened, and she looked at the pretty little wire band, and back at Andy… the boy she had been friends with for years… the man she had grown to love. She looked at her father, who stood watching them both solemnly, his face unreadable. "Papa?"

"Is this what you want, _ma cherie_?" Louis asked her gently.

She looked down into Andy's hopeful, beautiful blue eyes. _She was sure_. She nodded. "Yes, Papa."

She put her hand on Andy's cheek, and smiled. "Oh, yes, Andy. I do want you. Now, and forever!" He placed the ring on her finger and stood and kissed her.

Louis smiled and looked over at Andrew, who was showing definite signs of shock. "Then I guess we are to be one family after all, eh, _mon ami_?

Andrew nodded, and gazed down at Hilda's diamond wedding set. He looked into her eyes. "History just repeated itself."

Yvette looked at Andy's mother. "I don't understand."

Hilda pulled out the silver chain around her neck and showed them all the woven copper ring she wore. "Andrew gave me this ring back when we got engaged at Stalag 13. He made it himself from things he found around camp. He did buy me a diamond set when we got back to London after the war, but I told him when he gave me this ring that I would always treasure it, and I always have."

Yvette nodded. "As I will treasure this one. And your son."

There was silence for a moment and Hogan suddenly thought of something. "Hey, Newkirk, do you think it's gonna take a lot to get my Harley running again?"

Newkirk rolled his eyes and laughed. "Let's get in this limo, see if we can find some champagne to toast the happy couple with, and then we'll talk about it, all right, guv?

Hogan nodded. "Deal!"

 **~The End~**


End file.
